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Online, I go by Ducki and with they/them pronouns, and I typically/currently write for Spencer Reid x Reader. I also tend to write for one person while I'm obsessed with them (Spencer, if you couldn't tell.)
I am not comfortable writting NSFW or graphic violence, but those are my only real guidlines :)
Please do not DM me if not known IRL. I DO however, accept (beg for) requests.
i have this unrealistic fantasy in my head where if you calmly and logically explain something to someone perfectly they will understand your position and gain knowledge from the exchange. unfortunately in the real world this does not happen often
I have a request for YEARNING STEVE. Everything you do he just can’t get enough. Touchy. Clingy. Whiney when you’re not near and everyone is lowkey sick of seeing it but he doesn’t care he just wants YOU 😭
good old-fashioned lover boy
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pairing - steve harrington x fem!reader (no use of yn)
genre - fluff, established relationship
warnings - tooth rotting fluff bc i’m in love w steve harrington & im projecting all my feelings into my work, lots of skin-ship, steve harrington yearns, gag-worthy amounts of being in luv, kissing & some making out! steve refers to u as his gf and baby multiple times, word count 3.7k 🧍♀️
authors note - tysm for the req :) i hope this is ok, and ty for letting me yearn with no restraints <33 my ask box is always open for these kinds of things so pls don’t be afraid to ask me to write something
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summary - 3 times steve harrington couldn’t keep his hands off you, and the 1 time everyone called him out on it.
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if anyone were to ask, steve harrington would say his love language was physical touch. really, he couldn’t help his insistent need to reach out and touch you, not that you complained most of the time anyways, because it was just how he expressed his feelings. sometimes words weren’t enough, and steve was raised on the saying that “actions speak louder than words.” so it came to no surprise that he’d always have a hand on you; whether it was his fingers laced with yours, an arm slung over your shoulder or his hand ghosting over the small of your back, steve was always touching you in some degree.
steve could recall nearly every time he’d notice someone glance at the pair of you, or hear an off-handed comment from someone he knew about how you two were glued to the hip, how they almost never saw one of you without the other. he took pride in it, despite the judgemental tone some of them had, because why wouldn’t he want to spend quality time with the love of his life? he never really understood the idea of being without someone for long periods of time, because in his mind: to be loved is to be present.
i.
there was nothing romantic about the cramped employee back room of family video. it was dusty, the air was stale and more often than not you’d walk in and find keith sitting at the desk with a game & watch under the pretence of “admin work”. yet, steve still had the nerve to convince you that he couldn’t be more than five steps away from you, rambling on about how it’d physically hurt him to separate his hand from yours, and that he’s offended you wouldn’t “walk to the ends of the earth with your boyfriend in hand.” to which you just roll your eyes.
“steve, you’re so dramatic sometimes..” he’s moping, complaining that you don’t love him, because if you did, you’d be in the store room with him right now instead of calling him names. “is it a crime to want to be with my girlfriend?” he’s got a hand clutching his heart, murmuring that he’s wounded and the only cure for his broken heart is just behind the door to the back office. “no, but unauthorised entry in an employee only area is..” you’re teasing him now, steve is opening wearing his heart on his sleeve and expressing his unwavering love for you and you’re teasing him.
“baby, you’ve literally been behind doors countless times, and last time i checked..” he’s making a show of looking around, knowing full well the two of you were alone; robin not due to start her shift for another hour or so. “.. there’s no one else here.” it has you rolling your eyes, and steve’s calling checkmate. he’s got you right where he wants, no more excuses lined up on your tongue and you just sigh, giving in easily like you always do. steve’s internally cheering, a smug smile on his face as he interlocks your fingers with his, tugging you towards the secluded area out back, and all you can do is follow.
before you’re even able to question his clingy behaviour, steve is slowly backing you towards the nearest wall, one hand laced with yours and the other is pressed against the cold surface beside you, and it all clicks. “baby, you did not just convince me to come back here just so we can make out..” steve just shrugs, feigning innocence even when his eyes are telling you everything. “mm, don’t know what you’re on about.” he leans in anyway, and you don’t fight back, his lips on yours in a matter of seconds. and as much as you had wanted to poke fun of how needy he was today, you realised you needed this too, needed him close enough to touch, and you think you’re becoming just as bad as him.
it was just supposed to be a few innocent kisses, a few unspoken words in the form of his lips interlocked with yours, and yet, you can’t help but have an arm strung around the back of his neck, your need to have him closer clouding your judgement. steve’s just as bad, both hands on your waist, bringing you in, chest to chest, and you’re both whining about being too far away, despite the lack of space left between you. “you’re a terrible liar.” you call out, and he’s ignoring it in favour of kissing your jaw, following a path down your neck, while you’ve got a hand bunched in his hair, tugging just hard enough to get a sound out of him. he’s grinning up at you now, from the junction of your throat you can feel his teasing smile, and you roll your eyes, pretending you’re not wrapped around his finger right now, like you’re not as equally eager to have him.
he’s sliding a hand underneath your shirt, drawing aimless shapes along your bare skin, lost in the feeling, before there’s the distinct sound of shuffling outside that halts his movements. you both freeze, eyes stuck on the door before flicking back to each other, and you’re looking at him in horror, too afraid at the idea of being caught. “i thought you said it was just us?” you whisper, you curse him out for being reckless, and dragging you along with him, before you push him off you in favour of smoothing out the wrinkles on your clothes. steve’s groaning out in irritation, muttering something along the lines of “last time i checked, it was.” before sticking his head outside to see what the commotion was all about.
“dingus, the fuck are you doing? there’s a customer.” it’s robin, and steve’s eyes shoot up to the clock, she’s early, and he’s wincing because really, out of all days. steve coughs awkwardly, some feeble excuse on his tongue dies when robin takes notice of his disheveled appearance and he can tell she’s grown suspicious, that she’s got questions he doesn’t really want to reveal the answers to. her suspicions quickly turn into disgust when she pieces the picture together, and she’s looking at the door as if she can already guess who’s behind there with him. “think you can see what they want? i’m a bit preoccupied.” and robin is feigning a gag, all while the customer just stands there, judging the both of them before making a comment about the lack of professionalism the youth have these day.
“i’m not even clocked in you idiot!” but it doesn’t matter, because steve’s quick to close the door on her and robin flips him off when she thinks the customer isn’t looking. they were, and it’s just another thing she has to deal with before her shift even begins.
ii.
steve thinks it’s entirely unfair that you’re ignoring him right now. he’s lying between your legs, breath tickling your thighs and practically yearning for your attention. yet you’re more engrossed in whatever it is that nancy is saying to you on the phone, than your amazing, perfect, and very bored boyfriend. sure, you’ve go one hand playing idly with his hair, and it’s enough to have him close his eyes, to enjoy the way you rake your fingers through it softly, but it’s not enough to ease the ache of not being the centre of your attention. if the role were reversed, there wouldn’t even be a phone call, steve would happily ignore all his responsibilities if it meant he got to laze around with you, the most important person in his life.
it’s quiet, and the only sound in the room is nancy’s small voice bleeding through the speaker. she’s gossiping, giggling about something jonathan said and the vibration of your laughter makes steve look up, and he hates that he’s jealous over nothing. he hates that your attention is split between two, especially when it was so rare for the two of you to have a joint day off like this. sure, you both technically worked at the radio station, and you guys did see each other everyday, but rarely did he get to have you to himself like this.
he’s bored, grumbling under his breath and it momentarily grabs your attention, nancy’s speaking, but you’re not particularly listening right now, eyes locked onto your pouting boyfriend, who’s rolling his eyes and moving out of your space. you’re raising an eyebrow, and he’s leaning over you, and a part of you is expecting him to cling on to you, to bridge the sudden space between you. he cranes his body over yours, and breathes out a quick “sorry nance.” before taking the phone out of your hand and hanging up, placing it back on the cradle, and you can hear her sigh before she’s cut off. “steve, i was using that.” and he hums, clearly not listening in favour of wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and focusing on the movie that played as background noise.
“oh sorry, i didn’t realise.” he’s being sarcastic, and you roll your eyes and hit his chest playfully, melting into his embrace nonetheless, because you were always so weak for your boyfriend despite his questionable intentions. “you’re lucky i love you.” and he can’t fight the smile on his face, he can’t play the role of the upset boyfriend anymore, because you always knew how to have him swoon with just a few words. “yeah? love you too.” there’s a lingering kiss to the edge of your mouth, and you’re turning your head, trying to catch his lips fully but he’s pulling away, teasing you like he always does.
“steve..” the roles feel reversed now, like you’re the one vowing for his attention and you realise just how easy you played into his hands. “you’re annoying.” he nods, ‘engrossed’ in the movie, and your fingers are grazing his jaw, pulling him back into your bubble so you can kiss him properly, so you can give him the attention you both were craving. “oh, hi baby.” steve is playing dumb, and you shake your head, bringing him even closer to the point where you have your legs thrown over his lap, perched on his thighs and blocking the view of the tv. “don’t ’hi baby’ me steve.” and the act drops, hands on your waist and he’s sighing into your mouth, both of you longing for the other.
“missed you.” he’s murmuring against your lips, breath mingling with yours and you can feel the way he pouts like he just can’t believe you would’ve rather spoken to nancy than to have him like this. “i’ve been here all day stevie..” and he’s shaking his head, pulling you closer because it’s different, yeah, you were here physically, but your attention wasn’t. steve just wanted to spend his day lying around idly with his girlfriend with no distractions, no interruptions.
“you were on the phone with nance for ages..” a sigh leaves your lips, cooing at his obvious bitterness and you’re quick to move both hands to the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you and you lean in for a chaste kiss. “it was for like ten minutes, you’re such a big baby..” steve rolls his eyes, but there’s a crack of a smile when he feels you stare at him, eyes shining with that familiar adoration and he doesn’t respond to your very true statement, because he’s aware that he was acting out, but really, who cares when he’s got you like this.
“yeah yeah, now can we please pay attention to your very handsome, doting boyfriend who wants to kiss his beautiful girlfriend right now.” and you just nod, breathing out a laugh and leaning forward once again.
iii.
dustin really wishes he missed this crawl, maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with you and steve giggling in the front of the van like two lovesick teenagers. steve’s got a hand situated on your thigh, hearts in his eyes as you sit there, full focus on him whilst he explains the significance of the clutch pedal. you had made an offhanded comment on how you wish you learnt how to drive manual, and steve perked up, he felt like a petrolhead, eager to teach you all he knew.
dustin’s fiddling with a rubik’s cube he found lying around in the back, waiting for the signal from the others at the station, knowing it’d take awhile before they could finally hit the road. so he’s sighing, looking anywhere but the two of you, because he can already picture it, the way steve is gloating, priding himself on his extensive knowledge of shifting gears. he doesn’t need to look over to picture the way you’re batting your eyes, humming along to every word steve says, hyperaware of how steve’s hand is inching higher without him even realising it.
dustin wants to gag, you two were so disgustingly into each other that it’s suffocating, it’s got him flicking the antenna of his walkie and mumbling into the speaker, voicing a prayer and a cry for help. he can hear a snicker on the other side of the frequency, it’s robin, and she doesn’t even have the courtesy to act surprised, because it could be worse. “don’t bother henderson, it’s been like this all day.“ and he sighs, because he thought you two would’ve been tired of each other by now, really, he doesn’t understand how you find steve interesting enough to be infatuated by him at all waking hours of the day.
he thinks of steve like an older brother, his best friend, someone he looks up to but even he also knows just how annoying he can be. he admires your loyalty, because dustin might’ve clawed his hair out if he had to deal with steve the same way you do. steve was different before the two of you met, that cool, uncaring facade he carried with him only switched on when you were around and now that you two were together and grossly in love, it was like he was looking at a completely different person.
steve harrington, the same guy who beat the shit out some demodogs, who put up a fight against the russians is now the same steve who’s distracted by your every move, who misses his queues at the squawk because he’s too enamoured by you walking past while they’re on air. the same steve who keeps a polaroid of you two in his wallet, who insists that he can’t hang out with dustin on sunday’s because it’s date night, or because you two are seeing a movie. the same steve that’s looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, even in the cramped seats of the squawk van.
it’s best to ignore you two for now, because dustin knows that steve is too focused on you to even entertain his disappointed looks he keeps throwing at the pair of you. steve can’t help it though, he’s been dreaming for a girl like you, and now that you’re finally his, he wants to make sure that you know how much you mean to him, even at the cost of being teased by the entire party for being at your beck and call.
“..and that’s how you avoid a stall.” you’re nodding, and steve’s got that smug smile he always has when he’s showing off, and you couldn’t find him any more attractive as you do right now. you’re not even remotely interested in manual driving anymore, not when you’re distracted by how he hot he looks when he’s focused on something. you don’t even register the static of laughter in the back, the sound of a snicker coming through the speakers because steve’s looking at you in full earnest, soft smile tugged on his lips and it’s like the world around you goes mute.
“okay lovebirds, please don’t forget i’m here too.” a voice chimes in, and it’s like someone’s snapped their fingers, your attention drifting over from steve to dustin’s folded arms, he twitches when he can see you finally take off your rose tinted glasses and come back down to earth. you hear steve sigh beside you, annoyed that your time together is always cut short, and turns his head to greet his younger friend. “yes henderson?” but he’s distracted by the sound of your laughter, you’re clearing enjoying the exchange between the two and it just peeves dustin off more.
steve really can’t stay annoyed for long, not when you’re there; he has a soft spot for you always, and not even dustin’s glare can spoil his mood. “can’t you two hold it in until after the crawl?” dustin chimes in again, his hands emphasising the telemetry tracker beside him, and you nod, promising the two of you will behave, much to steve’s dismay. “baby..” you hold a hand out to stop steve from speaking out, and he pauses, eyes looking between you and dustin, and you can see the exact moment he gives up.
steve doesn’t remove his hand from your thigh though, instead he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes, because he still craves your touch even when he’s silently moping like this. you smile at him, squeezing back, and it’s then that they finally get the signal to drive, and dustin couldn’t be happier.
iv.
the kids had just graduated, and you soon find yourself situated with the others on the roof of the radio station. the nostalgia hitting and memories flood in of your time together at the squawk, and it feels like no time has changed, despite it being over a year since you all decided to pursue your seperate aspirations. there’s the lingering feeling of sentimentality, seeing your friends after months apart, and knowing it’ll be a long ways away until you’re all reunited again after this. it didn’t help that robin’s final goodbye on the radio had your heart feeling heavy for the past couple hours now, and sitting here, drink in tow, wasn’t doing it any favours.
jonathan and steve are bickering about the premise of jonathan’s film; capitalism, cannibalism? you weren’t really paying attention to the two, your eyes trailing around you, taking in the scenery, the sunset, the memories, and you’re thinking back to the first time you had discovered how to climb up to the roof. robin notices your silence, because she too is reminiscing all the time she took for granted with you guys, you two lock eyes, and there’s a silent agreement that you’d give anything to go back to how things were, minus the end of the world.
it’s then that robin speaks, roping nancy into spilling information about the “hot babes at emerson.” which has nancy rolling her eyes. she had dropped out, and that itself felt like a bombshell, but she had always known that maybe it wasn’t on the cards for her, that she was destined for other things, and you envy it a little. you hadn’t quite figured out what you wanted to do with your time, you felt a bit behind, and it was scary.
steve notices how quiet you’ve gotten, and the familiar feeling of his hand sliding into yours, fingers intertwined, is enough to silence that nagging voice in your head for the time being. you’re squeezing his hand back, grateful for the distraction before you notice the others around you fall quiet, it’s jarring how awkward it feels before robin’s clearing her throat, and she’s the one to address the elephant in the room.
“so is no one going to mention that huge rock on your hand?” and just like that, the air around you feels lighter and you can’t help but laugh at how blunt she’s being, and how shocked the others look when they finally take notice of the ring on your finger. “holy shit!” nancy exclaims, and she’s quick to move out of her chair, smacking steve’s hand out of yours; to which he groans in faux annoyance, in favour of checking the diamond attached to you.
it makes steve’s heart swell, the familiar feeling of pride that situates itself whenever he looks down at the engagement ring he had bought months ago. it’s a reminder of just how lucky he is, how he’s finally found the one, that he’s promised forever with you. “oh yeah, that..” you’re shy when people notice, but you can’t fight the grin that makes it’s way to your face every time, because steve harrington will always be your person, and now you have a physical reminder of that.
“spoiled her on a coach’s salary too.” you smack his shoulder, and steve pouts, knowing you can’t stay mad at him for long. there’s obvious heart eyes when you look up at him, that all too familiar feeling of yearning you don’t think will ever fade. it’s disgustingly cute, atleast that’s what robin says when she breaks the silence, and you can’t help but shy away from the eyes of the others, their gazes soft and it makes you feel extra vulnerable.
“took you long enough” robin’s calling out from beside you, and you furrow your eyebrows, because it still shocks you when you think back to his proposal, steve down on one knee with shining eyes and wobbly smile. he had this speech about how he couldn’t imagine a life without you, it was endearing how nervous he was, how sweaty his hand got whilst it was latched with yours, and you always tear up when you think back to that moment, how easy it was to say yes.
“now, what’re your thoughts about having six little nuggets?” jonathan jokes, and steve shoots him a glare, but you don’t fail to metion how easy it is to imagine a family with steve. “i mean, maybe not six, but definitely atleast two.” and it shuts steve up, you two had only really talked about kids a handful of times, nothing too serious, but he’s looking at you with stars in his eyes, there’s that familiar look of adoration, and you can see jonathan instantly regret bringing it up. “great, you’ve set him off again.” and steve doesn’t even care, because he’ll always be guilty of being in love with you, and god forbid a man is infatuated with his future wife.
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yeah i ain’t even got an excuse for this one i literally blinked and it became this big ass fic.
i sincerely hope you all enjoyed this :) & please lmk if this was ok!!
i think a part of myself will always have room for steve, especially over the last month or so since i started writing. it’s kinda scary releasing something, but seeing people reblog and comment that they like my writing is enough for me to continue !!
Summary: The last time Steve's (now ex) girlfriend got drunk with him, she called their entire relationship bullshit and told him she didn't love him. Steve's current girlfriend now suffers the consequences because the man won't stop avoiding her when she get's drunk.
Warnings: Alcohol, Drunk People, Cursing, Fluff, Minor Miscommunication, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Established Relationship, Crying
Word Count: 2.1K
Masterlist
Steve avoids his girlfriend every single time she drinks.
He never serves her drinks unless prompted, doesn’t crack open those fancy bottles of wine in his Dad’s basement when she stays over, doesn’t even look in the direction of a bar when they’re planning their dates.
It’s not like it's a frequent occurrence, she’s not an alcoholic or anything. But it’s happened often enough that she’s noticed. Maybe a handful of times in the entirety of their relationship. Seen the way he seems to disappear once he’s confirmed she’s being sufficiently supervised by Robin or some other trusted individual. He lingers, eyeing her from a distance, making sure no weirdos get too close. And by the end of the night, he’s always there to swoop in and take her home.
But otherwise, he avoids her like the plague. She can’t figure out why— it’s driving her nuts. Yeah, drunk people can be annoying. She gets that. But it's your girlfriend of all people, she wasn’t acting that crazy while inebriated. She didn’t usually think much about it, or at least she tried not to. But she's at a point of tipsy-ness that she wants to be around her boyfriend who very clearly doesn’t want to be around her for some reason.
So now, she’s staring at him. Really staring at him, all doe-eyed, bottom lip pouting as she hangs off Robin’s shoulder. She’d gotten drunker than usual in her fit of frustration regarding Steve’s distance.
“Steve!” She squeals his name, launching herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a way that has Robin mouthing ‘sorry’ and gesturing to an equally drunk Vickie.
Steve blinks, a bit stiff as she throws herself at him. His arms instinctively loop around her waist to hold her upright. “Hey sweetheart.” He greets, bringing one of his hands to pat her head, albeit a tad awkwardly. She preens at the affection, trying to bury herself in his chest all the while Steve stares Robin down. “We’re gonna head out, alright?”
She pouts, shifting to look up at him, she rests her chin on his chest. “Mkay.” She relents, contented by the simple fact that she’s in his arms. She locks her hands together around his waist and sighs happily, in a bit of an exaggerated fashion. Looking over her shoulder to wave goodbye to Robin absently.
Steve’s hand drifts to the small of her back as he guides her to his beloved Beamer, her head resting on his shoulder as she hums a little tune to herself. He opens the car door, helping her settle into her seat before rounding the car to the driver’s side— he stares at her for a second, confirming she's buckled in before starting the car.
“Can I stay over tonight?” She asks almost immediately, looking at him. It’s far from an abnormal request. She stays over all the time.
Steve blinks, his gaze focused on the road. “I— Yeah sure, of course, Angel.” Comes his swift response, though he swallows a bit nervously.
It’s silly, Steve knows it's silly. But he’s a bit on edge around her when she gets drunk.
The last time his (now ex) girlfriend got drunk, she denounced their entire relationship as bullshit and admitted she didn’t love him. Okay, maybe that's a bit exaggerative but that’s certainly how it felt. And naturally, his sweet girlfriend was not Nancy Wheeler, they’re two completely different people. But he can’t help but fear what words will come out of her mouth when she's drunk and free of all inhibitions.
Drunk words are sober thoughts. And Steve doesn’t think he can hear how his girlfriend doesn’t really love him again. He doesn’t want to hear it. It's irrational, he knows it's irrational, but he can’t help but be scared. Because he really likes this girl and well, he hopes she really likes him too. Loves him, even. She hasn’t said it before, not once. And he hasn’t either, so he can’t really fault her for it. But it leaves him feeling nervous, maybe even a bit insecure in their relationship. But those are feelings he buries, shaking his head in an effort to wipe them from his mind.
He clears his throat awkwardly, gaze flicking over to her as she toys with his radio, humming along to the music and bobbing her head. Cute. She’s cute, his distress diminishes at the sight. How can he think such negative things about his delightful girlfriend? He begins scolding himself mentally, puffing out his cheeks in an effort to free himself of his thoughts as he returns his eyes to the road and—
A poke to his cheek.
He blinks, turning to look at her. “Sweetheart? You need something?” He asks, bringing his gaze to the road.
“Nuh uh.” She says simply. “Just wanted t’ poke ya.”
He nods, as if that response made complete sense. “Right, right, of course.” He murmurs absently.
It’s only a couple more minutes before Steve is pulling into his driveway. Putting the car in park and rounding the vehicle to come and open her door. He guides her out of the car and into his house.
It’s empty, per usual.
She kicks off her shoes upon entry, shrugging off her jacket— which almost falls to the floor before Steve catches it with a quiet curse under his breath. Hanging it in the coat closet swiftly as he tries to keep up with her. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” He tries to coax her, he really does. Treating her like a bomb about to blow. But instead, much to his dismay, she’s padding to the kitchen and opening his fridge with a pout.
“But ‘m hungry.”
He hums, hand coming to her waist to guide her to the stairs as he gently shuts the fridge. “I can bring you a snack.” He responds, making an attempt at directing her to his room, “while you get ready for bed. How’s that sound?”
She pouts, again, feet rooted in the floor. “But I wanna be with you.” She responds, arms wrapping around his waist, she presses her face into his chest again. “My boyfie. Can’t I just be with my boyfie?”
He goes a bit stiff, surprised by the action, but brings a hand to her hair nonetheless, patting her head gently. He pecks her forehead. “‘Course you can. But you gotta get ready for bed.”
When she looks up at him, her eyes are teary. And now Steve is really panicking. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What did he do? What does he do?
“Stevie, why don’t you wanna hang out with me?” It comes out like a whine, but she sounds genuinely hurt. Eyes darting over his face, brows strewn together as she looks at him in search of an answer. Genuinely confused by his avoidance and distance. Drunken emotions amplified and washing over her like a tsunami. It's not like she wants to cry, but she's growing frustrated and hurt.
He blinks, clearly surprised as he shakes his head rapidly, trying to reassure her as his hands come to her cheeks. “Baby, of course I wanna hang out with you. I just…” He smooths his thumbs over her cheeks. “Just wanna take care of you first, yeah? Got to get you nice and comfy in bed and we can chat all night.”
She sniffles, and much to his dismay, shakes her head. “Liar.” She says. “You always avoid me when we go out. Am I no fun or somethin’ Stevie?” She asks, tugging at his shirt absently, she looks down to evade his gaze. “I just wanna dance with you. But you’re always sitting in the booth or— or nowhere to be found at all!” She frowns.
Oh, she’d noticed that. Well now he just feels like a dick. “You are the most fun, sweet girl.” He responds, and she seems to perk up at the pet name, leaning into his touch. She tilts her head to press a kiss to his palm, gazing up at him through her lashes. He swipes his thumb under her eye to catch a stray tear. “It’s not your fault at all. I’m just being silly.”
Her brows furrow, and her brain is still a bit fuzzy from the drinks, but she’s not stupid, nor is she plastered. “Whatcha mean?”
Steve purses his lips, looking away for a moment. “I… we can talk about it tomorrow.”
Oh that was not a good thing to say.
She looks at him like he’s committed a felony, mouth gaping open. Her hands come to his shoulders to shake him back and forth. “Tomorrow? Stevie, now I’m not gonna sleep at all, why would you say that?!” She cries out, and her eyes are beading with tears again.
He mentally face palms, his hands coming to grip her face to keep her still, he says her name firmly to get her attention. Waiting for her to acknowledge him, she eventually pauses her movements, blinking up at him. “Sorry.” He breathes out, brows furrowing a bit, trying to figure out how to handle… this. “I– it’s just something easier to talk about while you’re sober.” He explains.
That does not help at all. And he quickly realizes his mistake when she starts to open her mouth to express her newfound distress. “I— I’m nervous!” He blurts out, trying to halt another minor meltdown. “When you get drunk, I get nervous.”
She blinks, registering his words. Her brows furrow and she tilts her head curiously, hand slipping into his. “Why?” She asks. “‘M not… I didn’t think I did anything too crazy, do I?”
Steve shakes his head rapidly, his hair bouncing a bit with the movement. “No, no baby. Not at all. It’s just…” The sight of his hair distracts her, a hand coming to gently caress and tug at the strands as he tries to speak, his face reddening at the action. “Y’know, some people are mean when they’re drunk.”
It takes a second for his words to process in her head, her hand in his hair slipping down to cup his cheek. The affection taking him a bit by surprise, he lets his head lull in her hold as he watches her carefully, awaiting a response. “Mean?” She repeats with a frown. “Am I mean?”
He shakes his head, hand coming to cup hers and hold it against his face. Steve tilts his head to kiss her palm. “No, never.” He responds. “But sometimes people say really honest things while they’re drunk and that can feel mean.” He tries to articulate his thoughts. “Like maybe you’ll reveal you actually hate my hair or something.” The joke doesn’t really land as his eyes dart over her face.
She purses her lips. “But I love your hair.” She murmurs absently. “‘S pretty. Just like you. My Stevie is the prettiest.” She leans forward to peck his chest through his top and he swears his heart explodes. Cute. So completely and utterly cute, she’s going to kill him. “All soft and fluffy.” She adds, pressing her forehead against him, her eyes flutter shut sleepily.
“Course.” He breathes out, hand coming to rub her back gently. “I just—”
“This about the bullshit incident?”
The words are a tad slurred as they leave her lips, but they have him stiffening. “P-Pardon?”
“We went to the same high school, Steve, I wasn’t popular but the gossip got around.” She sounds surprisingly sober as she says it, nuzzling into his chest. “Our relationship isn’t bullshit.” Her voice is soft, sweet as she shifts to gaze up at him through her lashes, extending a pinky. “Promise.”
He lets out a shaky breath, a part of him feeling oddly moved by her action, and a bit embarrassed that his failing relationship with Nancy evidently made local news at Hawkins High all those years ago. But he extends his pinky to lock with hers. “Promise.” He echoes the words.
“‘M a very pleasant drunk too.” She adds with a rapid nod of her head. “Just wanna cuddle you all the time. But you’re always gone.” A pout dawns her face once more, though it's no longer one filled with genuine tears.
His face warms again and he breathes out a laugh. “Yeah?” His pinky releases hers, hand traveling to her waist to try and return to his initial goal of getting her upstairs. “Next time, then.”
She nods, this time allowing him to redirect her towards the stares. “Next time.” She agrees with a swift nod.
He leans down to peck her cheek, and she giggles at the action. Affection stirs in his chest as he litters kisses over her skin. Her forehead, her nose, her chin, everywhere he can reach. Her laugh warms his head and he can’t help but grin at the sound, it’s like listening to light itself.
Yeah, he loves her.
He’ll have to tell her that, tomorrow.
feel free to tip ☕️ — always appreciated, never expected 💛
Note: Had fun writing this. Oops if the grammar is bad. Proofreading is not my strong suit. Hope it was good!
Summary: The last time Steve's (now ex) girlfriend got drunk with him, she called their entire relationship bullshit and told him she didn't love him. Steve's current girlfriend now suffers the consequences because the man won't stop avoiding her when she get's drunk.
Warnings: Alcohol, Drunk People, Cursing, Fluff, Minor Miscommunication, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Established Relationship, Crying
Word Count: 2.1K
Masterlist
Steve avoids his girlfriend every single time she drinks.
He never serves her drinks unless prompted, doesn’t crack open those fancy bottles of wine in his Dad’s basement when she stays over, doesn’t even look in the direction of a bar when they’re planning their dates.
It’s not like it's a frequent occurrence, she’s not an alcoholic or anything. But it’s happened often enough that she’s noticed. Maybe a handful of times in the entirety of their relationship. Seen the way he seems to disappear once he’s confirmed she’s being sufficiently supervised by Robin or some other trusted individual. He lingers, eyeing her from a distance, making sure no weirdos get too close. And by the end of the night, he’s always there to swoop in and take her home.
But otherwise, he avoids her like the plague. She can’t figure out why— it’s driving her nuts. Yeah, drunk people can be annoying. She gets that. But it's your girlfriend of all people, she wasn’t acting that crazy while inebriated. She didn’t usually think much about it, or at least she tried not to. But she's at a point of tipsy-ness that she wants to be around her boyfriend who very clearly doesn’t want to be around her for some reason.
So now, she’s staring at him. Really staring at him, all doe-eyed, bottom lip pouting as she hangs off Robin’s shoulder. She’d gotten drunker than usual in her fit of frustration regarding Steve’s distance.
“Steve!” She squeals his name, launching herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a way that has Robin mouthing ‘sorry’ and gesturing to an equally drunk Vickie.
Steve blinks, a bit stiff as she throws herself at him. His arms instinctively loop around her waist to hold her upright. “Hey sweetheart.” He greets, bringing one of his hands to pat her head, albeit a tad awkwardly. She preens at the affection, trying to bury herself in his chest all the while Steve stares Robin down. “We’re gonna head out, alright?”
She pouts, shifting to look up at him, she rests her chin on his chest. “Mkay.” She relents, contented by the simple fact that she’s in his arms. She locks her hands together around his waist and sighs happily, in a bit of an exaggerated fashion. Looking over her shoulder to wave goodbye to Robin absently.
Steve’s hand drifts to the small of her back as he guides her to his beloved Beamer, her head resting on his shoulder as she hums a little tune to herself. He opens the car door, helping her settle into her seat before rounding the car to the driver’s side— he stares at her for a second, confirming she's buckled in before starting the car.
“Can I stay over tonight?” She asks almost immediately, looking at him. It’s far from an abnormal request. She stays over all the time.
Steve blinks, his gaze focused on the road. “I— Yeah sure, of course, Angel.” Comes his swift response, though he swallows a bit nervously.
It’s silly, Steve knows it's silly. But he’s a bit on edge around her when she gets drunk.
The last time his (now ex) girlfriend got drunk, she denounced their entire relationship as bullshit and admitted she didn’t love him. Okay, maybe that's a bit exaggerative but that’s certainly how it felt. And naturally, his sweet girlfriend was not Nancy Wheeler, they’re two completely different people. But he can’t help but fear what words will come out of her mouth when she's drunk and free of all inhibitions.
Drunk words are sober thoughts. And Steve doesn’t think he can hear how his girlfriend doesn’t really love him again. He doesn’t want to hear it. It's irrational, he knows it's irrational, but he can’t help but be scared. Because he really likes this girl and well, he hopes she really likes him too. Loves him, even. She hasn’t said it before, not once. And he hasn’t either, so he can’t really fault her for it. But it leaves him feeling nervous, maybe even a bit insecure in their relationship. But those are feelings he buries, shaking his head in an effort to wipe them from his mind.
He clears his throat awkwardly, gaze flicking over to her as she toys with his radio, humming along to the music and bobbing her head. Cute. She’s cute, his distress diminishes at the sight. How can he think such negative things about his delightful girlfriend? He begins scolding himself mentally, puffing out his cheeks in an effort to free himself of his thoughts as he returns his eyes to the road and—
A poke to his cheek.
He blinks, turning to look at her. “Sweetheart? You need something?” He asks, bringing his gaze to the road.
“Nuh uh.” She says simply. “Just wanted t’ poke ya.”
He nods, as if that response made complete sense. “Right, right, of course.” He murmurs absently.
It’s only a couple more minutes before Steve is pulling into his driveway. Putting the car in park and rounding the vehicle to come and open her door. He guides her out of the car and into his house.
It’s empty, per usual.
She kicks off her shoes upon entry, shrugging off her jacket— which almost falls to the floor before Steve catches it with a quiet curse under his breath. Hanging it in the coat closet swiftly as he tries to keep up with her. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” He tries to coax her, he really does. Treating her like a bomb about to blow. But instead, much to his dismay, she’s padding to the kitchen and opening his fridge with a pout.
“But ‘m hungry.”
He hums, hand coming to her waist to guide her to the stairs as he gently shuts the fridge. “I can bring you a snack.” He responds, making an attempt at directing her to his room, “while you get ready for bed. How’s that sound?”
She pouts, again, feet rooted in the floor. “But I wanna be with you.” She responds, arms wrapping around his waist, she presses her face into his chest again. “My boyfie. Can’t I just be with my boyfie?”
He goes a bit stiff, surprised by the action, but brings a hand to her hair nonetheless, patting her head gently. He pecks her forehead. “‘Course you can. But you gotta get ready for bed.”
When she looks up at him, her eyes are teary. And now Steve is really panicking. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What did he do? What does he do?
“Stevie, why don’t you wanna hang out with me?” It comes out like a whine, but she sounds genuinely hurt. Eyes darting over his face, brows strewn together as she looks at him in search of an answer. Genuinely confused by his avoidance and distance. Drunken emotions amplified and washing over her like a tsunami. It's not like she wants to cry, but she's growing frustrated and hurt.
He blinks, clearly surprised as he shakes his head rapidly, trying to reassure her as his hands come to her cheeks. “Baby, of course I wanna hang out with you. I just…” He smooths his thumbs over her cheeks. “Just wanna take care of you first, yeah? Got to get you nice and comfy in bed and we can chat all night.”
She sniffles, and much to his dismay, shakes her head. “Liar.” She says. “You always avoid me when we go out. Am I no fun or somethin’ Stevie?” She asks, tugging at his shirt absently, she looks down to evade his gaze. “I just wanna dance with you. But you’re always sitting in the booth or— or nowhere to be found at all!” She frowns.
Oh, she’d noticed that. Well now he just feels like a dick. “You are the most fun, sweet girl.” He responds, and she seems to perk up at the pet name, leaning into his touch. She tilts her head to press a kiss to his palm, gazing up at him through her lashes. He swipes his thumb under her eye to catch a stray tear. “It’s not your fault at all. I’m just being silly.”
Her brows furrow, and her brain is still a bit fuzzy from the drinks, but she’s not stupid, nor is she plastered. “Whatcha mean?”
Steve purses his lips, looking away for a moment. “I… we can talk about it tomorrow.”
Oh that was not a good thing to say.
She looks at him like he’s committed a felony, mouth gaping open. Her hands come to his shoulders to shake him back and forth. “Tomorrow? Stevie, now I’m not gonna sleep at all, why would you say that?!” She cries out, and her eyes are beading with tears again.
He mentally face palms, his hands coming to grip her face to keep her still, he says her name firmly to get her attention. Waiting for her to acknowledge him, she eventually pauses her movements, blinking up at him. “Sorry.” He breathes out, brows furrowing a bit, trying to figure out how to handle… this. “I– it’s just something easier to talk about while you’re sober.” He explains.
That does not help at all. And he quickly realizes his mistake when she starts to open her mouth to express her newfound distress. “I— I’m nervous!” He blurts out, trying to halt another minor meltdown. “When you get drunk, I get nervous.”
She blinks, registering his words. Her brows furrow and she tilts her head curiously, hand slipping into his. “Why?” She asks. “‘M not… I didn’t think I did anything too crazy, do I?”
Steve shakes his head rapidly, his hair bouncing a bit with the movement. “No, no baby. Not at all. It’s just…” The sight of his hair distracts her, a hand coming to gently caress and tug at the strands as he tries to speak, his face reddening at the action. “Y’know, some people are mean when they’re drunk.”
It takes a second for his words to process in her head, her hand in his hair slipping down to cup his cheek. The affection taking him a bit by surprise, he lets his head lull in her hold as he watches her carefully, awaiting a response. “Mean?” She repeats with a frown. “Am I mean?”
He shakes his head, hand coming to cup hers and hold it against his face. Steve tilts his head to kiss her palm. “No, never.” He responds. “But sometimes people say really honest things while they’re drunk and that can feel mean.” He tries to articulate his thoughts. “Like maybe you’ll reveal you actually hate my hair or something.” The joke doesn’t really land as his eyes dart over her face.
She purses her lips. “But I love your hair.” She murmurs absently. “‘S pretty. Just like you. My Stevie is the prettiest.” She leans forward to peck his chest through his top and he swears his heart explodes. Cute. So completely and utterly cute, she’s going to kill him. “All soft and fluffy.” She adds, pressing her forehead against him, her eyes flutter shut sleepily.
“Course.” He breathes out, hand coming to rub her back gently. “I just—”
“This about the bullshit incident?”
The words are a tad slurred as they leave her lips, but they have him stiffening. “P-Pardon?”
“We went to the same high school, Steve, I wasn’t popular but the gossip got around.” She sounds surprisingly sober as she says it, nuzzling into his chest. “Our relationship isn’t bullshit.” Her voice is soft, sweet as she shifts to gaze up at him through her lashes, extending a pinky. “Promise.”
He lets out a shaky breath, a part of him feeling oddly moved by her action, and a bit embarrassed that his failing relationship with Nancy evidently made local news at Hawkins High all those years ago. But he extends his pinky to lock with hers. “Promise.” He echoes the words.
“‘M a very pleasant drunk too.” She adds with a rapid nod of her head. “Just wanna cuddle you all the time. But you’re always gone.” A pout dawns her face once more, though it's no longer one filled with genuine tears.
His face warms again and he breathes out a laugh. “Yeah?” His pinky releases hers, hand traveling to her waist to try and return to his initial goal of getting her upstairs. “Next time, then.”
She nods, this time allowing him to redirect her towards the stares. “Next time.” She agrees with a swift nod.
He leans down to peck her cheek, and she giggles at the action. Affection stirs in his chest as he litters kisses over her skin. Her forehead, her nose, her chin, everywhere he can reach. Her laugh warms his head and he can’t help but grin at the sound, it’s like listening to light itself.
Yeah, he loves her.
He’ll have to tell her that, tomorrow.
feel free to tip ☕️ — always appreciated, never expected 💛
Note: Had fun writing this. Oops if the grammar is bad. Proofreading is not my strong suit. Hope it was good!
summary: spencer is stuck in a meeting all day and wants to talk to you, so he emails you a Google Doc where he chats with you
content warnings: none!
a/n: based on a very cute TikTok i watched a few days ago about a couple in college talking to each other via Google Docs in class! It was so adorable I imagined Spence doing it too :>
At 8:42 a.m., Spencer Reid makes a very conscious decision. He does not open his FBI-issued email. Instead, he logs into his personal email, the one with his full name, a profile picture she insisted on, and an inbox that is 90% newsletters he never reads and 10% emails from his wife about new book releases, restaurant newsletters, and even check-ins when they're oceans apart.
He opens a Google Doc.
He titles it carefully:
Quarterly Coordination Notes [Confidential!]
Then, after a pause that lasts exactly long enough for him to overthink it, he shares it with his wife. Across the conference table, Hotch clears his throat and begins talking about departmental metrics. Spencer nods automatically, fingers already hovering over the keyboard like they belong somewhere else.
He types.
Mr. Reid (8:43 a.m.)
Good morning, Mrs. Reid.
This document is not what it appears to be.
At home, her laptop chimes. She was in the middle of cooking breakfast for herself. She opens the doc and immediately spots the sender, his personal account.
Her smile is instant. She types back.
Mrs. Reid (8:44 a.m.)
Good morning, Mr. Reid.
Why are you using your personal email during a federal meeting?
Spencer’s shoulders relax like someone just lowered the volume of the world.
Mr. Reid (8:45 a.m.)
I didn’t want anyone to accidentally access this.
Also, I trust you with my thoughts more than the Bureau.
Emily glances at him. Spencer straightens, pretends to type notes. Nodding every 5 seconds, even when he shouldn't be.
Mrs. Reid (8:47 a.m.)
What’s the meeting about?
Mr. Reid (8:48 a.m.)
Budget allocation. Which DID NOT require three hours!!!!!
Mr. Reid (8:49 a.m.)
I miss you already. :( </3
She laughs softly, imagining him, knee bouncing under the table while he tries very hard to look professional. She remembers packing his lunch and adding a bag of Sour Patch Kids, which helps ease both his anxiety and restlessness.
Mrs. Reid (8:49 a.m.)
You left twenty minutes ago. What happened to the bag of Sour Patch? I told you to keep it in your pocket in case this happens.
Mr. Reid (8:53 a.m.)
Yes, but that was before you kissed my cheek and told me to eat lunch. I left it outside with my phone because I was almost immediately whisked into the meeting room the moment I walked in. :(
By mid-morning, the document has become less “confidential notes” and more shared space, with little timestamps of Spencer reaching for her whenever the room gets too loud.
Mr. Reid (10:02 a.m.)
Someone just said, “let’s circle back.” (HELP ME)
Mr. Reid (10:03 a.m.)
I would much rather circle back home to you. ;) ;P :D
It makes her laugh out loud. For all his nerdiness, her husband is very obviously smitten, and it comes out in the corny little things he says that somehow still manage to make her blush. She settles into his home office without thinking twice, pulling his chair closer and tucking her legs up before setting her laptop on his neatly organized desk. Her eyes land on the framed photo by the corner, her in her wedding dress, Reid carrying her like it was the easiest thing in the world, smiling like he couldn’t believe she was real. It’s one of her favorite memories, and sitting there makes the distance feel a little smaller.
Mrs. Reid (10:03 a.m.)
Careful, Mr. Reid. You’re being obvious.
Mr. Reid (10:04 a.m.)
I’m married to you. I’m allowed to be obvious. ;)
At lunch, he eats distractedly, one hand scrolling through the doc like it’s a lifeline. He's got his phone now, but the document has already grown on him, and to be honest, it did on her, too. There was something about it that made them want to keep talking.
Mr. Reid (12:06 p.m.)
It's lunch. I wish you were here.
You always take my fries even when you say you don’t want any.
Mrs. Reid (12:07 p.m.)
You give them to me anyway.
Mr. Reid (12:08 p.m.)
Because they taste better when you’re smiling.
Mr. Reid (12:20 p.m.)
Is this what it feels like to be passing notes with your crush in high school?
Mr. Reid (12:21 p.m.)
I wish I had a crush on you in high school. <3 I'd send you love letters via Google Doc all the timeeeee
Mrs. Reid (12:28 p.m.)
What does that even mean! May I remind you that you were a young genius who was in high school by 12? I was busy cutting hair on my Barbie dolls when you were in high school. Haha!
Mrs. Reid (12:30 p.m.)
And was Google Doc even a thing back in your day?
Mr. Reid (12:32 p.m.)
My day?! We're the same age!
Mrs. Reid (12:35 p.m.)
Excuse me? I'm 10 months and 6 days younger than you! Hahahaha!
The afternoon meeting is worse. Louder. Spencer presses his thumb into his palm under the table, grounding himself, then opens the doc again without thinking.
Mr. Reid (2:41 p.m.)
This room is overwhelming. I WANNA GO HOME TO YOUUUU!
Mr. Reid (2:41 p.m.)
Thinking about you makes it quieter.
Mrs. Reid (2:42 p.m.)
What are you thinking about?
He swallows, types carefully.
Mr. Reid (2:43 p.m.)
Coming home to you and your pretty face.
Mr. Reid (2:44 p.m.)
You asking how my day was.
Mr. Reid (2:45 p.m.)
Me answering too honestly.
Mr. Reid (2:46 p.m.)
You listening anyway.
Her reply is simple. Certain. She’s always loved listening to anything and everything Spencer says, his rambling, his facts, the way he overexplains without realizing it. His voice has always been a place of comfort for her. People joke that she must be a little insane for it, but she finds it sweet that no matter how long they’ve been together, he still comes to her, still finds comfort in her, like she’s home to him.
Mrs. Reid (2:45 p.m.)
Same, I can't wait to see you <3
At 4:58 p.m., the final message appears.
Mr. Reid (4:58 p.m.)
We’re done. HOORAY! I survived.
Mr. Reid (4:59 p.m.)
Thank you for keeping me company, Mrs. Reid. For being my calm. For being mine.
Her heart leaps out of her chest. She types back immediately.
Mrs. Reid (5:00 p.m.)
Always yours. See you soon, Mr. Reid.
Spencer closes the laptop with a soft, relieved breath. All day, through stolen sentences and shared margins, he carried her with him, in a document that never stood a chance of being professional. And now he gets to go home to his wife, the only person who makes even the longest meetings feel survivable, because loving her has always been the easiest thing he’s ever done.
synopsis: retired from the BAU, spencer learns to find the joy in life again through his daughters and a frosty windowpane.
genre: fluff
pairing: (post show) twin dad! spencer x reader
wc: 1.4k
notes/tags: this is set in the present day!! 44 yr old spencer!!! spencer is retired and happy and at peace because it’s my fic and i want him to be. the show does not control me. not much action or dialogue but spencer is such a sap and he loves his family so so much. holy yap. <3
masterlist // please reblog if you enjoyed it helps promote the fic so much!!
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Frost lined the outside of the windowpane, swirling and splintering across the cool glass with all the grace that a tranquil early morning often carries. From inside, delicate wisps of steam coiled into the air from the mug tucked tight between Spencer’s hands. He’d woken early this morning. No nightmares, no 4am calls into work. No rushing around trying to grab his coffee and his clothes and the stack of files strewn about his desk. He’d simply just… woken up. He was still in his pyjamas, shirt slightly wrinkled where your hand had been buried in it for the better part of the night. A book sat closed in his lap, there for the comfortable familiarity more than anything as he settled further into his armchair, gently adjusting the throw blanket draped over him as he gazed out into the morning light.
The first snow of the year. Something often seen as a symbol of purity, of renewal, of chances to begin again. Every regret and every bad day becomes obscured, far out of reach beneath a thick, glistening blanket that on the next sunny day, the next time it’s shown some warmth, melts away and washes every worry away with it. A fresh start- although Spencer hardly ever felt like he needed them anymore.
He never used to like the snow much. He’d only really become accustomed with it when he grew up, his main memories being the way it bit with it’s cold, icy fangs at his nose, at his fingertips and at his cheeks during those dreaded winter cases. Or how it would pile in his shoes on his way home, making a bad day worse as he felt his socks begin to soak through. One has to grow up with snow, he thought, to really appreciate it. Yet as he sat and watched droplets glow golden under the streaks of the street lamps, watched as it decorated the empty trees and blanketed the shrubs below, he began to think there was more to it than that.
Sure it still bites, sure it still soaks. But there’s warmth to be found in it too when you have children of your own. There’s joy in the rosiness of their little cheeks as he tugs their scarves just a little tighter, and in the piles of wet socks that lay on the floor as he helps them roll on warmer, fuzzier ones instead- mismatched, of course, but always matching each other’s. Spencer especially finds beauty in snowflakes. No matter how similar they look at first glance, each one takes on it’s own path down to tiny, molecular intricacies that to an untrained eye seem insignificant but to those who stop to look - to really look - they make all the difference. No matter how hard you search you will never find two the same. They remind him of the girls. Of his girls.
Alike in every way conceivable on the surface, with the same brown locks and slight bump in their noses he’d passed down to them but wonderfully unique in a way that fascinated him to his core. If you paid attention you’d see the way one always had the same twinkle in her eye that her father had, the one that made her brain overflow with a myriad of questions, while the other’s fingers would twitch with the need to explore and to find answers for herself. Both as insatiably curious as him, and as individual too.
He thinks of how later one will rush out to make snow angels, tossing herself into the snow and making herself squeal in glee as she watches it kick up around her, while the other will immediately begin gathering it into her gloved hands before winding her arm back with an athleticism Spencer believes could only have come from you. He chuckles as he thinks of how one daughter will bundle herself up far too much while the other will insist that no, she doesn’t need another layer on beneath her coat, Dad. When you both bring them inside, cold and red and tired in that way that indicates a fun day was had, he knows that one will insist on only pink marshmallows in her hot chocolate while the other will demand the white, only for them both to pick them out and eat them before drinking anyway.
A creak sounded somewhere behind him, the sound of shuffling feet dragging on a rug pulling Spencer’s gaze from the window as he turned around. His eyes landed on you leaning against the doorframe in your pyjamas, hair mussed on one side where your head had laid on his chest (then on his pillow when he had woken up and gently detached himself from you). Sleep clung to your eyelids as they blinked lazily at him, one pyjama pant leg was still bunched up near your knee and you’d not yet stopped to pull up the sock that had half escaped your foot through the night. Spencer was sure you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“What’re you doing up?” You mumbled, stifling a yawn as you continued shambling towards him. Instinctively, he set his coffee down and moved the book from his lap.
“It’s snowing.” He answered, voice slightly raspy as it ushered out its first words of the day. How wonderful, he thought, to start a day like this. How many morning breaths were spent taking phone calls, groggily muttering “Doctor Reid speaking” into the receiver before he was even fully awake? How many days had he kissed your forehead with an apology on his lips as he slipped out of bed before he could even say good morning? Before the sun had even risen?
You hummed contently as you draped yourself over his lap like a cat, wrapping your hands loosely over his shoulders as you followed his focus back to the window. A light fog was beginning to clear, hazy rays of yellow shyly peering through the branches of the trees in your back yard.
“Have you been up long?” You asked, smoothing down his hair with a gentle stroke of your hand.
His brow furrowed as he thought about it, realising he hadn’t checked the time once that morning. He hadn’t felt the need to. “I’m actually not sure.”
“Well, it can’t have been too long or I would’ve woken up sooner.” A tiny smile tugged at his lips, his hand finding its way to your calf and giving it an affectionate squeeze as you snuggled further into him.
You craned your head slightly, catching the title of the book he’d set aside. You recognised it as one of his many Sherlock Holmes copies, spine lovingly cracked by hands that had cradled it extra tight in recent years and pages creased in the corners. It was dog-eared now, somewhere around the middle despite him having started the book again last night. He often read a little slower these days.
“It almost doesn’t look real.” Spencer murmured and you turned back to where he was tracking a small bird with focused eyes as it hopped through the yard. Tiny tracks trailed through the snow behind it, so shallow that they disappeared almost as fast as they’d been left. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this before.”
The sun was poking its head out now, a rich amber glow filling the sky and blending into hues of pinks and purples as it waved the moon goodbye. On the ground, the snow twinkled as if it were making up for the stars as the night faded. The streets were still fairly silent, bar the distant rumble of a car engine and the bright coo of a bird somewhere out of sight as the world began to wake up.
“You should enjoy it while you can.” You tucked a curl behind his ear as he turned to face you, pinching his brows as he waited for you to elaborate. Smiling, you shifted to check the clock on the wall before gazing back down at him. “In about 30 minutes it’s going to be covered in a million little footprints.”
Spencer huffed a laugh, picturing the moment when the girls would leap out of bed, bounding down the stairs as they announced with high pitched excitement that it was snowing and that they had to go outside and play ‘right now!’
“I wouldn’t laugh too much if I were you.” You teased, despite the fond grin on your own face. “It’s you they’re going to be dragging out there.”
post-bau!spencer and penelope having a tradition of doing brunch together every sunday. when penelope has to work, spencer picks up food and hangs out with her in her lair.
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