''when did we all become so performative'' idk man when the threat of being recorded at any time and posted for milions to see without your knowledge became normalised.
Everyone needs three hobbies: one to give you carpel tunnel, one to leave you sore and bruised, and one for your distant relatives to insist you monetize
Understanding a line of foreshadowing so well that you have to stand up and walk around the house saying âshit shit shit shit shitâ until youâre composed enough to go back.Â
Summary : An unsub hits Spencer in the face and you wish you'd been there to defend your genius
Word count : 1k
Notes : Only warning I can think of is the description of Reid's injuries, but it's all surface level, his pretty privilege is intact dw
My masterlist
This fic on ao3
As soon as you hear Morgan's voice in the other room, you rush to the precinct's bullpen. Emily is loosening the straps of her kevlar jacket, and Derek is laughing in Spencer's direction, patting his back just a little too strongly for the doctor's frame, causing him to reach for the edge of a desk for balance.
Hotch isn't far behind, leading the suspect over to the interrogation room while a local officer is apparently lecturing him on the cost of broken down doors.
Undeterred by the sudden onslaught of people, you weave your way through the crowd, searching for the team's personal genius.Â
"What's got Morgan so excited now huh ?" you tease as you reach the desk he's facing. Derek grins at you, chin pointing toward the young man.
"Reid's been putting off changing his glasses for too long apparently."
Grumbling something under his breath, Spencer lifts the glasses into your field of vision. The frame is a little bent, one temple dangling uselessly from its hinge, and the lenses seem to both be in rough shape. One is popped at the side, an impact spreading like a spider web along the glass, and the other is completely absent.
"Did you step on them ?" you chuckle as he tosses the pair onto the desk, "what happened ?"
That's when Spencer finally turns around. Focused on the destroyed glasses, you hadn't thought to check on the man's face.Â
Grave mistake.
His brows were furrowed in a mix of annoyance, embarrassment and pain, or so you assumed considering the state of his face. The apple of his cheek had taken on a palette of hues ranging from a dirty yellow to a deep purple, spreading to the skin under his eye. The bridge of his glasses had left a dark bruise over the slope of his nose, and blood was dripping along his upper lip, while some was drying just under the curve of his nostril. His bottom lip was split, and the image of his features in such a state makes your stomach flip.
Rage spreads like wildfire through your veins, and in a few seconds, you could almost see the ambers of it just under your eyelids. Your throat feels raw as you speak.
"Who the fuck did this to you ?" you manage, jaw taut with tension.
Spencer's previous frown seems to be immediately replaced with a slight apprehension at the sound of your voice.
"Iâ I wasn't paying attentionâ we were clearing the rooms and he snuck up on meâ"
"Knocked him right out !" Morgan cackles, oblivious to the fury behind your eyes.
"The unsub ?" your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but Reid catches the threat in it anyway.
"It's fine, we got him now, reallyâ Like Morgan said, I needed to change them anywayâ" his sentence is cut short by your hand on his shoulder, urging him to sit down. He follows your lead, brown eyes looking up at you in what you can only assume is worry.
Your fingers tilt his chin up gently, and you grab a tissue from his hand to dab at the blood sliding along the curve of his lip. You can see him exchanging a look with Morgan, but you're too focused on trying to find a way to repay the motherfucker to pay it any mind.
"I knew I should've come with." you mutter as you examine the extent of the damage with careful fingers. He hisses slightly when your fingertips brush over the bump of his nose, but doesn't move away.
"It's fine, you couldn't have done anything more. Plus, it's not a big deal." his voice lowers to the level of yours.
"Oh shut up, you could get shot in the head and still say it's not that big a deal."
"Well, technically I probably wouldn't say <em>anything</em> if I got shot in the head."
You roll your eyes at his correction, "that doesn't help. And I could've done something."
"Oh yeah ? And what would that have been ?"
"Bashed his head against a wall," you shrug, and he grins like the cat that got the cream.
"I don't think that would've helped," he whispers, and somehow, seeing him smile dampens the fire clawing at your ribs.
"Well I still really want to," your fingers find a stray curl and tuck it behind his ear.
"I know. Thank you," his amusement softens into a fondness that makes your chest ache, "I do think I'd appreciate an ice pack more though."
"Morgan can go get it," you state without looking away. How can someone still look so pretty with a beat up nose and lip ?
Reid glances behind you, before his eyes meet yours again, "I think he left"
Turning your head to confirm the claim, you sighed, "For the amount of times I've third wheeled for him, he could've endured it once."
Spencer chuckles, before hissing slightly, "Yes, well, I like having you to myself,"
The sentence drains the remaining rage right out of your system. You bite back a smile, "Good, cause I'm not leaving your side until that's healed"
That boyish grin you love so dearly stretches his lips, "Oh how terrible. Truly a nightmare come true"
"Don't rejoice too soon, I can't kiss you until you're better," you tease, savoring the twist in his brows, the slight pout of his bloodied lip.
Nudging the glasses' corpse with a knuckle, you glance back at him, "Maybe you should get lenses. They wouldn't break."
Spencer scrunched his nose in disapproval, once again hurting himself in the process.
"I don't like the idea of putting stuff in my eyes."
"But getting beat up is no biggie," you snort, "I'll go get the ice." you sigh, pressing a kiss to his hair.
"Thank you," he whispered, fingers brushing yours as you go.
summary: in which you overhear sirius calling you his girl. thus, a lovesick and kiss-drunk sirius makes it his mission to say it again, and again, until you finally believe it.
warnings: fluff, excessive affection, pet names, public displays of affection, mild teasing, soft!sirius whoâs so in love, overwhelming sweetness, lovesick behavior, lots of kissing, tooth rotting fluff
word count: 3.1k
masterlist
The thing about dating Sirius Black is that it never quite feels real.
Not in the way people describe disbelief, like youâre waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in that strange, dreamy sense of stumbling into a story someone else mightâve writtenâsome fairytale stitched with mischief and the kind of heat that lingers in the spaces between words.
It has been a few months now.
Enough time for your friends to stop blinking in surprise every time they catch you smiling at him, enough time for the rumors to die down and the whispers in the halls to quiet to a low murmurâthough they never go away entirely when it comes to Sirius.Â
He is, after all, Sirius Black: loud-mouthed and sharp-eyed, honey-voiced and maddeningly beautiful.
And yet, somehow, he chose you. Or maybe you chose each other, slowly, stupidly,and sweetly.
You know what people must think. That you temper him. That he ignites you. That your silences fill in the blanks he never bothers to pause for. That he, for all his recklessness, somehow found something steady in you.
Which is why youâre heading to meet him now outside of class. Sirius had promised to spend the entire day with you today, as he was lately busy with studying.
Youâre almost there when you hear his voice.
Itâs not unusualâhe talks loudly, as though the air is something that belongs to him, like even his words are allergic to restraint. But itâs the way he says something now that makes your steps falter.Â
Youâre still around the corner, concealed by the stone archway. You hadnât meant to eavesdrop.Â
âSirius!â James Potterâs voice cuts through the corridor, warm and familiar, and itâs easy to picture his wide grin as he strides up to him.Â
âCome on, padfoot. Weâve got a pitch slot and I need someone to test my latest throw. You still owe me from last week when you ditched.â
Sirius laughs, the sound low and raspy in the way youâve come to know too well. âDidnât ditch,â he says.Â
âOh, piss off,â James retorts. âYou coming or not?â
Thereâs a pause. You imagine Sirius running a hand through his hair the way he always does when heâs pretending to think, when in reality heâs already made up his mind and just wants to seem dramatic.
âCanât,â Sirius says finally, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic. âIâve got a packed schedule today.â
James scoffs, exaggerated. âWhat, youâve started revising now? What exactly are you busy with?â
âNo,â Sirius replies, too casual, too breezy. And then, with no warning at all, he adds, âIâm spending the day with my girl.â
It hits you like a whispered spell.
Not âmy girlfriend,â not your name, not even some half-serious nickname. Just that. My girl.
Youâre suddenly aware of everythingâof the way your heart is thudding against your ribs like itâs trying to escape your chest, of the heat crawling up the back of your neck, of the way your fingers have curled slightly into your sleeves like youâre trying to make yourself smaller.Â
Youâve never been someone who takes up space easily, and right now, the sound of those two words fills every corner of your body, makes you feel almost... lit up.
Itâs not the fact that he said it. You know you're his girl. Heâs told you in the way he tucks his fingers into the loops of your jeans just to pull you closer in the quiet corners of the library.Â
In the way he lights up when he sees you walk into the common room, mid-sentence with Remus, stopping only to grin like youâve rewired the gravity in the room.Â
In the way he sits behind you during study sessions just to braid strands of your hair and mutter things like âbeautiful,â and âgorgeous.â
But stillâmy girl.
Youâre fairly certain you and James both made the same face at the same time. That vaguely unhinged, utterly stunned, slack-jawed expression that usually precedes a dramatic spill or a burst of inappropriate laughter in the Great Hall.
Somewhere in your brain, a single electrical wire sparked, and then everything short-circuited.
You could practically see Jamesâs eyebrows lifting halfway to the ceiling, and itâs almost hilarious, almost.
Because you would have laughedâif you werenât frozen, rooted to your spot like some enchanted statue.
Then came Siriusâs voice again, casual and clear, carrying from inside the classroom, smug in the way only Sirius Black can be when he knows exactly where heâs headed.
âAnyway, Iâve gotta go,â he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, âSheâs probably already out there waiting for me.â
James groans dramatically. âTell your girl Iâm filing for abandonment.â
âSee you later, prongs,â Sirius calls back, followed by the scraping sound of a chair and the creak of hinges swinging open.
Panic sparks in your chest.
You leap back from the wall like youâve just been caught with your ear pressed to the keyholeâbecause, well, you have, essentiallyâand immediately fumble with your bag, turning slightly so it looks like youâve just arrived.Â
And then there he is.
Leaning against the doorframe like itâs something he was born to do. Hair half-tucked behind his ears, tie loose, expression bright and unreasonably happy for someone who got an earful from Slughorn not two days ago.Â
His eyes find you instantly, like he was already reaching for the sight of you before he even walked out.
âHi, baby,â he says, voice soft and amused and utterly at home in the syllables.
âHi!,â you reply, a little too fast.
His brow lifts slightly. âHi.â
Your heart trips. âHi.â
He stares at you for a beat, then lets out the kind of laugh that sounds like it comes from his chest. The kind of laugh that should probably be bottled and sold as some form of antidote in your humble opinion.
âYou look a little too happy for a Monday, baby,â he says, stepping closer, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted as he studies you. âWhatâs happening?â
You shrug with deliberate nonchalance, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. âCanât I be happy?â
He grins like youâve just said something precious. âOf course you can,â he says, reaching out to squish your cheeks between his hands so your words are suddenly a little garbled.
âJust wanna know whatâs got you extra happy today.â
You mumble something unintelligible, eyes darting away, and he narrows his own suspiciously.
âHmm?â
You free your face from his fingers and try not to giggle. âItâs nothing.â
âNuh-uh,â he says, tilting his head with mock offense. âYou donât get to smile like that and then say ânothing.â Come on, tell me.â
You hesitate, toeing the stone floor with your shoe. âI, um. I heard you.â
Sirius blinks. âYou heard me?â
âIn class,â you clarify, shifting your weight to the other foot and feeling heat crawl up your neck. âWhen you were talking to James.â
He tilts his head again. âYou get happy when I talk to James? Thatâs new,â he murmurs, brushing his knuckles softly across your cheekâhis touch featherlight.
His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, are softened now, warm and brimming with a quiet kind of awe.
You swat at his chest lightly. âNo, Sirius.â
He laughs again, utterly delighted. âOkay, okay, sorry. What did I say?â
You bite your lip and look away. âNever mind. Forget it.â
âAbsolutely not,â he says, eyes glinting with curiosity. âNow I need to know.â
You shake your head stubbornly, lips pursed, trying not to smile, but Sirius isnât fooled.
He takes a slow step closer, tall enough that his shadow stretches over you, the scent of him curling into your breath. The air between you tightens.
âWait,â he says suddenly, voice pitched low with amusement, grin sharpening like heâs just solved a riddle heâs been working on since breakfast, âWas it when I called you my girl?â
Your face gives you away in an instant.
Your eyes widen, the way they always do when youâre caught off guard, as if your thoughts have leapt too fast for your expression to catch up. Heat blooms high in your cheeks, blooming pink and soft across your skin like sunrise, betraying every effort to stay composed.
âOh my god,â he says, actually laughing now, hands braced on his hips as if the revelation physically knocked the wind out of him. âThatâs what got you all smiley?â
You narrow your eyes, cheeks blazing. âStop laughing!â
He tries, he really does, but the laughter keeps bubbling out of him, shameless and golden.Â
You huff and turn on your heel, nose in the air like youâve just declared a personal war against him.
But you donât get far.
Before you can take a single step away, he movesâquick and fluid, one long stride and heâs behind you.
His fingers find your waist with ease, curling firmly around your sides, and in one seamless motion, he pulls you backâhard enough to make you stumble slightlyâuntil you're flush against his chest.
He holds you close. So close it feels like youâre standing inside the space between seconds.
âHey, hey, câmere,â he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, brushing against your skin like silk. His arms slip around you fully, drawing you in again, and this time, you donât resist.
âWhy so shy, baby?â he whispers, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and tenderness all tangled together.
You pout instinctively, your fingers resting lightly against his chest. âNothing.â
His brows lift. âNo, no. No hiding. What is it?â He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. âYou are my girl though, right?â
You glare up at him, but your heart is not cooperating.
âYou just... never called me that before,â you say, quiet, soft enough that it barely survives the space between you.
Sirius exhales, and pulls you even closer, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.
âWell,â he says into your hair, âYou should start getting used to it.â
You donât even get a moment to tease him back before heâs wrapping his arms around you again, tugging you flush against his chest like holding you is as instinctive as breathing.
He rocks you gently side to side, his chin hooked over your shoulder, and you can feel the quiet grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he speaks.
âYouâre so cute, yâknow that?â he murmurs, voice low and warm, like heâs sharing a secret meant only for your ears.
He says it again, and again. Each repetition comes between a kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin with unbearable fondness, his long hair tickling across your jaw like satin.
âMy girl,â he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your cheekbone.
Another kiss, this time closer to the corner of your mouth. âMy pretty girl.â
You giggle, trying and failing to turn your face away as warmth floods your cheeks. âSirius, your hairâs tickling meââ
He just smiles into your skin, clearly unbothered. Another kiss, this one slower, more lingering, pressed just beneath your ear. âMy favorite person.â
You squirm in his arms, laughing harder now, your hands curled into his shirt as you try to wriggle away, but he only holds you tighter.
âMy most favourite girl.â
Each word hums against your skin like a spell.
And you, useless and smitten thing that you are, melt for him completely.
A quiet giggle escapes you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face in his chest to hide the way your cheeks are burning.Â
You try to squirm away, overwhelmed and giddy, but his grip tightens gently and he tilts your chin up with two fingers, catching your gaze with a look so full of open affection it robs the breath from your lungs.
He holds your face like itâs something precious, like heâs afraid to let it go. His thumb brushes just beneath your cheekbone, featherlight and impossibly gentle, and then he saysâquietly, sincerelyâ
âCan I get a kiss?â
The way he looks at you in that moment, like youâre his whole damn universe, is almost too much.Â
His long black hair falls into his eyes, the ends brushing his cheekbones, his mouth barely parted.
His eyes are shining, glassy with something deeper than a smile, and heâs smiling anyway, soft and crooked like the words he wants to say are too big to fit in his throat.
Thereâs a trembling silence where you donât know how to speak.
Because this is the part no one sees.
This is Sirius Black in love. Not loud, not cocky, not showy or flirtatious. But bare, unshielded, and tender to the point of devastation.
And somehow, it still surprises youâhow much he feels.
Because he plays it smooth, always, with his smirks and his swagger and his stupidly charming quips.
But deep down, Sirius is just as flustered to be around you as you are around him. Maybe even more.
He still hasnât gotten used to saying your name out loud without his heart stammering. Still canât look at you some days without wondering if youâre a dream made flesh. Still marvels at the fact that when you walk into a room, youâre walking toward him.
He calls you his girl like itâs nothing. But to him, it means everything.
Because youâre not just his girl. Youâre his world.
You lean up slowly, your hands resting against his chest like he might vanish if you touch him too fast. Then you press your lips to his, soft and sweet.
He smiles against your mouth before pulling back slightly, his eyes still closed, like heâs trying to savor the moment just a little longer. A beat passes. Thenâ
âCan I get another one?â he whispers, one eyebrow lifting, that same mischievous edge bleeding back into his voice.
You blink at him. âYouâre soââ
But you donât get to finish.
Because he kisses you againâharder this time. His hand cups the back of your neck, his other arm firm around your waist, pulling you in like heâs afraid the world might steal you away if he lets go.
And when he kisses you like thatâlike youâre his first and last prayerâthereâs no doubt left.
Sirius Black is utterly, hopelessly, and beautifully in love with you.
And even if you donât quite realize it yet â heâs been yours all along.
His lips are still brushing against yours when he pulls back the slightest inch, gaze hazy and wonderstruck, as though heâs only just now realizing that youâre real.Â
His thumb is tracing absent shapes at your waist, his breath slow and uneven like heâs trying to memorize the curve of your mouth by air alone.
His eyes, dark and warm and barely blinking, drink you in like heâs never seen anything so beautiful. Like he doesnât want to miss a single second of whatever this is.
And then, of course, he leans in again for a third kiss.Â
You stop him with a hand on his chest and a breathless little laugh. âSirius,â you whisper, dragging out the syllables. âYou canât keep kissing me, we have a whole day ahead of us, and weâre still in the bloody hallway.â
He leans his forehead against yours with a groan, dramatic and wounded, as if youâve just denied him water in a desert.
âBut I thought you were my girl,â he says, pout in full effect, lips parted and brow creased with the exaggerated tragedy of it all.
âMy girl doesnât let me kiss her as much as I want? This is unfair.â
You burst out laughing, fully this time, and the sound of it sends a visible shiver through him.
He never gets tired of hearing it, probably never will.
âCome on, Black,â you tease, grabbing his hand and turning on your heel to pull him down the corridor behind you, your fingers threading easily through his.
âI need someone to help me carry the books I ordered.â
At that, Sirius lights up like someoneâs handed him a trophy. âBooks?â he says, perking up.
âYou ordered books and didnât tell me? Thatâs a violation of trust. But donât worry, loveâIâll carry them, all of them. You wonât lift a single bloody finger.â
You glance back at him with a smirk. âWow, look at you,â you tease, eyebrows raised.
âAll manly now, huh? Sirius Black, the knight in shining armor, savior of poor girls with heavy textbooks.â
âI am manly,â he insists, puffing his chest out like an idiot and giving your joined hands a little swing. âAnd chivalrous and noble and handsome and criminally underappreciated andâ.â
You snort. âOkay, I get it!â
But just as youâre rounding the next corridor, Sirius glances down and suddenly stops short, yanking you to a halt beside him.
âWaitâyouâre carrying your bag?â
You blink, confused. âUm... yes?â
He gasps so dramatically youâre worried for a moment he might start clutching his chest.
âWhat a horrible boyfriend I am,â he cries.
âCarrying nothing. Letting my girl do the heavy lifting like some kind of untrained baboon.â
You laugh again, shaking your head as he makes a scene of freeing your bag from your shoulder.
âGive me that. No, seriously, give it. I was raised better than this. Even my horrible, bloody mother wouldâve scolded me for letting you carry your own things.â â He takes the bag from you with exaggerated care, slinging it over his shoulder â âGranted, sheâd probably scold me just for being in public with you, but the point stands.â
You giggle again, unable to stop smiling, as he then reaches for your hand once more, the two of you falling into step like you were made to.
Your hands swing gently between you, fingers warm and safe in his.
And from that moment on, he never stopped.
Sirius Black referred to you as his girl in every corner of the castle, whether you were there to hear it or not.
Heâd say it proudly, like the words alone lit something inside him.
And when you werenât around, youâd better believe he was still talking, still rambling, and surely still flustered.
Cheeks tinted a soft, unmistakable pink, he'd go on and on to anyone whoâd listenâusually Jamesâabout how smart you were, how good you smelled, how pretty you looked with your nose buried in a book or your hair tied back or when you laughed with your whole body like you did when he tickled your sides.
James, for his part, teased him relentlessly. But Sirius didnât mind. Not even a little.
You were his girl after all, and he wanted the whole world to know it.
ALWAYS REBLOG WHEN YOU SEE SOMETHING LIKE THIS PLEASE; ITS SO MUCH MORE THAN IMPORTANT TO PEOPLE. IT MEANS EVERYTHING TO SOMEBODY AND EVEN THOUGH YOU MIGHT NOT SEE THIS IN THE SAME LIGHT, SOMEONE MIGHT. INFACT YOU REBLOGGING THIS COULD STOP SOMEONE TAKING THEIR LIFE TONIGHT.
Perhaps ÂčÂłâŸ skinned knees and/or Âčâ”⟠frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise with Spencer, Steve, or Peter? đđ
Thanks for requesting!
cw: recounted violence, hints at our poor Peter's trauma </3
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ⥠773 words
Peterâs quiet the whole way back to your apartment. You try to be quiet too, though you canât help a small gasp when he swings onto the side of your apartment building and every instinct in your body is telling you youâre going to hit the bricks.Â
âItâs okay,â he says, opening your window with one hand. âIâve got you.âÂ
You crawl inside clumsily, envious of the way Peter hops over you with practiced effortlessness. He closes the window and heads for the kitchen without a word. Youâre caught between feeling guilty and wanting to repair things, but ultimately you follow him.Â
Heâs closing the freezer when you enter, mask on the kitchen counter, a bag of peas in his hand. âCâmere,â he says, flicking on the stove light. âLet me see.âÂ
You go, letting him take your face in hand to tilt your right eye towards the light. Peter inspects you carefully. His eyes are dark in the low light, disconcertingly serious. After a few seconds he sets the peas to your cheek.Â
âItâs gonna bruise pretty bad,â he says.Â
âIt doesnât even really hurt,â you try, throbbing.Â
Peter looks tired. Hardly mad, more exhausted than anything. âWhy would you do that?â he asks, his tone genuine. âI had it handled.âÂ
It was a freak thing, you stumbling upon Peter on your way home. Youâve seen him as Spider-Man before of course, a few times before you knew it was him and plenty more after, but youâve never seen him get hurt. It was him versus six guys, the late hour casting shadows but Peterâs suit bright as a beacon. Nowhere near a fair fight. Peter had two of them webbed to a dumpster within five seconds of you spotting them, but another landed a blow to his stomach with a tire iron that had him doubling over. You saw one of the guys coming up from behind him and moved without thinking.Â
You didnât even really get into the thick of it. A thrown elbow caught you in the face, half a second of startling pain in your cheek and the corner of your eye, and then Peter had the rest incapacitated before you could get your bearings to punch back. He took you straight home.Â
âIâm sorry.â You set your hand over the bag of peas, meaning to take it from him, but Peter doesnât let go. âI got scared. It looked like you were losing.âÂ
âI wasnât losing. I had it handled, I justââ He pushes out a breath. âYou canât freak out like that.âÂ
âI saw you get hit.âÂ
âIt was just one hit! I get hit sometimes, thatâs the job, but itâs not your job.â Peterâs voice turns raw. âYou canât do that. Okay? You canât. I have powers and you donât, Iâll be fine, but you canât put yourself in danger like that, okay?â He looks at you, expression taut with worry. âSay okay.âÂ
âOkay,â you say.
He breathes out. Leans his forehead against yours.Â
âIâm sorry.âÂ
âNo, Iâm sorry.â Peter kisses the bridge of your nose, his tone softening. âI canât believe you got hurt.âÂ
âIt was my fault,â you murmur. âAnd itâs just a bruise. You got hit with a weapon.âÂ
Peter makes a breathy, amused noise. âWeapon is a stretch. It was a tire iron.âÂ
âAre you okay? Did they break anything?â
âNo, no. Iâm fine.âÂ
âReally?â
âYeah.â He backs up a little so you can see his face. Both of your hands are still on the peas. âIâm fine, baby. Iâm good. Donât worry.âÂ
You know Peter doesnât lie to youânot anymore, not since he told you about what he doesâbut youâre still not entirely comforted. âI want to see.âÂ
âLater,â he promises. âHow does your face feel, really?âÂ
âFine, really,â you say. âIt hurt the most when it happened.âÂ
Peter nods, brows sewing together as he lifts your makeshift ice pack to see underneath it. You canât imagine the appearance of your bruise might have changed much since he last saw it, but you donât object.Â
âDo I look pretty?â you tease.Â
His smile is soft as he puts the peas back in place. âBeautiful,â he says genuinely.Â
You bite your lip to suppress your own smile. âI can hold this here on my own, you know.âÂ
âI know,â says Peter. His finger strokes gently up yours, the material of his suit glove smooth. âJust let me for a while, okay?â
IN WHICH your boyfriend surprises you at work. with coffee.
ౚà§âËàż boyfriend spencer reid x reader (fluff)
you were typing on your computer, legs crossed and chin propped on your palm as you tried to pull through the morning, doing your best to ignore the fact that you were missing something very important- caffeine.
the lights in the office were way too bright for a thursday morning, and you wanted nothing but to go home and curl up in bed. or maybe get some coffee to keep you awake, considering you had another half a dozen hours of work left.
|| 9:02 AM : âgood morning, love. i havenât heard from you today, is everything alright ?â
|| 9:07 AM : âhi, spence. sorry, i was kind of in a rush this morningâŠâ
the brief conversation youâd had with your boyfriend this morning was still open on your phone, untouched. it was already complicated enough to keep your attention on the laptop in front of you, you couldnât tell spencer how awful you were feeling right now.
youâd slept through the alarm. woken up to a sore throat. rushed to work, only to realise the cafe next to your workplace was was closed today.
no medication. no caffeine. just you and a long, boring day of sitting in the damned office.
until someone knocked at your door.
you looked up, wondering who could it be. the last thing you needed right now was for someone to see you in that state, and you didnât think you could handle human interaction right now.
âcome in ?â you coughed, fixing your hair while you waited for the door to open.
just as you were about to get up to see for yourself, the handle clicked and to your surprise, appeared the dreamiest thing you could imagine.
spencer reid, the prettiest boy you knew, in all his glory. silky hair tucked behind his ears, his messenger bag slung over your shoulder, and the softest of smiles on his face.
âbefore you ask,â he explained, walking to your desk in a couple of quick strides. âyes, iâm supposed to be at work and no, i wonât get fired for being here. iâm on paperwork duty today so hotch wonât even notice iâm gone-â
he dropped a brown paperbag on your desk, and you chuckled, your mood somehow lifting from his presence alone. âspence, what the hell are you doing here ?â
â-as i was saying, i was just taking a quick break from doing the most boring thing possible, to bring you a little something.â
âyour pretty face ?â you asked playfully, looking up at him from the chair and trying to keep your mind off the soreness in your throat.
âno, no ! i mean yes, i really wanted to see you. but iâm bringing you coffee cause you mentioned it over the phone⊠so⊠goodmorningâ
at that, he couldnât help the silliest smiles from creeping up his face, and gestured to the paperbag on your desk. you reached for it and in fact, found a warm cup of-
âoh baby, you got me my favourite ?â
spencer nodded, feeling strangely proud and grateful for his eidetic memory. not that he particularly needed it when it came to you, the person he could easily remember every detail about.
âlatte with oat milk, double shot of expresso and vanilla cold foam. iâve had it memorised since our first coffee date.â
just as you opened your mouth to thank him, a cough hit you. it wasnât the first time this morning, but definitely a very bad timing. your boyfriend has a habit of worrying too much about you.
âlove, are you alright ? whatâs wrong ?â
he helped you take a sip of coffee, the sweet flavour hitting your tastebuds in the most amazing way. the warm drink soothed your throat and you reassured him. âiâm fine, spence. just⊠feeling a bit crappy this morning, thatâs all.â
but of course, spencer reid wouldnât be himself without his stubbornness. he pulled a chair next to yours and sat down, long limbs brushing against yours.
âdonât lie to me, pleaseâŠâ he whispered, leaning forward so that you looked at him. âyouâre coughing and you look a bit pale. not to mention the empty tissue box thatâs right there.â
âdamn profiler,â you huffed, rolling your eyes. âright. iâm sick.â
itâs not that you didnât want him to worry about your situation, you enjoyed him taking care of you. but he had already been nice to show up here unannounced just to âsay goodmorningâ and you didnât want to take advantage of his unmatched kindness.
so, there it was.
âdid you catch a cold ? is anyone else around sick ? youâre taking your supplements, right ? the one i gave you ? and every day ?â
âyes, mom.â you joked, preferring to pull the sarcastic act than to tell him every word you spoke hurt like hell. âiâll be fine, itâs really nothing.â
the way you downplayed it made spencer want to rip his hair out, because why did you always have to act so careless ? he suddenly thanked himself for coming over, knowing youâd never have told him by yourself.
âyou shouldâve told me.â
âi knew youâd worry.â you answered with a shrug, chugging coffee that had just reached the perfect temperature.
âi am worried.â
of course he was. heâs the federal agent, the one risking his life everyday, and yet his safety means nothing compared to yours.
but you reached out for his hand, interlocking your fingers with his and reassuring him with a silent squeeze.
âspence, i promise you iâm fine. youâve done more than enough, and seriously⊠you have no idea how much this means to me.â
his lips formed a lopsided smile and he squeezed your hand in return, amused by your words. âlove, i just brought you coffee.â
an involuntary chuckle escaped you. âsee ? thatâs what i love about you. youâll do the most romantic thing ever and brush it off like itâs nothing.â
and it was true, he really was perfect to you. from buying you flowers each week right whek the previous ones faded, to always carrying your work schedule and articles printed in his bag, and texting you âgoodmorningâ and âgoodnightâ every day like clockwork.
he really was the best.
âbut this isnât nothing,â he retorted. âthis is you being sick, and iâm not brushing it off. you need medication and you need restâŠâ
âbut-â
he frowned, and cut you off before you could say anything else. âno buts, baby. take it easy today, okay ? and iâll drop by your place tonight after work to take care of you.â
yeah, he definitely wasnât going to leave you alone. not today, and probably not anytime soon. so you just put the coffee down, and sighed.
âokay.â you nodded, somehow please by the idea of him coming over, no matter what the reason behind it was.
spencer got up, grabbing his bag when he realised it was probably time for him to head back to work. the way youâd agreed so easily threw him off a bit, but he unfortunately didnât have time to tell you that.
âso, iâll be there as soon as iâm done with the endless report files.â he promised you, opening the door and trying to stop himself from running back to you and kissing you senseless.
âright, tonight. and thank you again for coffee, you really should do that more oftenâŠâ
spence laughed, eyes softening at your comment. âdelivering you your coffee every morning ? sure, itâs not like i have three PhDs, a real job or anythingâŠâ
truth is, he gladly would pursue a career change if it meant getting you to smile like that more often. but he couldnât tell you that now, so he just kept his focus on the fact that you were ill.
and that the quicker he was getting back to work, the quicker he would be able to leave to see you again tonight.
âiâll see you tonight then,â you told him, a little disappointed by the fact that he was going away so quickly.
âsee you tonight, baby.â he says, reluctantly walking out the door. âand seriously, take your supplements.â
SPIDERMAN!JAMES!!!!! HES PERFECT FOR A SPIDERMAN AU
discovering your boyfriend is spiderman*. â
cw: fluff. brief mention of blood. desperate james. reader is in danger (kinda, not really). not proofread!
cw: OMGG this concept is perfect!! let me know if you'd like to see more of him<3 as always, feedback is very much appreciated. remember english isn't my first language!
âthatâs for attacking my girlfriend, you idiot!â
the words slipped from his lips before he had time to rethink the situation.the anxiety quickly crawling up his chest after he realized what heâd just done. just the result of too much adrenaline coursing through his body along with the fear heâd felt as soon as he realized that drunk dickhead was following you.
and you, well, you hadnât expected to see your boyfriend tonight, neither spiderman. and you had totally not expected to see them both. at the same time.
youâre still pressed against the wall of a random alley, your purse clutched to your chest and your heart hammering in your ribs, âjamie?â
you see how his body tenses when you say his name, barely hearing him murmur something that sounds a lot like âoh fuckâ.
âjames, is that you?â
defeated, he sighs and takes the mask off, turning around to face you. the faint light of a street lamp allowing you to see your boyfriendâs guilty face with that damn smirk that always makes your stomach flip no matter how mad you are. your eyes follow down to the rest of his body, covered in the familiar red and blue suit.
âhi babyâ he says softly.
you blink, âyouâre spiderman,â you stare at his body again, noticing his side slightly damp from what looks like blood. âwhat the fuck?â
âyeah⊠itâs a funny story.â
you stare at him in shock, breath slowly leaving your lungs while the gravity of what just happened finally hits you.
âyouâre spiderman,â louder now. almost hysterical.
âi was gonna tell you, i swear,â he whines, âitâs just- i didnât know how.â
âyou didnât know how to tell me youâre a freaking superhero?!â
he winces at your tone, your voice sounding more harsh that youâd wanted to.
he looks utterly miserable, his big brown eyes wide open in panic because he really doesnât have a clue about what else to say.
you slowly walk up to him and put a hand on his cheek, and he instantly rubs against it like he always does when you try to pull him for a kiss.
âyouâre an idiot,â you drag him by the face to put your forehead against his, his hands moving to rest on your hips, pulling you closer to him.
âyou shouldâve told me,â
âi know,â he mutters, âbut it was like i could never find the right timing.â
âi donât even think there's a good timing for news like this.â you insist.
âi guess, but showing up to your window after patrolling didnât seem like a good way to surprise you either.â
you smack his shoulder. not hard, just enough to make you both laugh.
âyouâre gonna tell me everything.â
âi will, babyâ he gives in to kiss you but you turn your face to the side.
âiâm serious, james⊠you-â
âdonât call me that.â he whines, pouting at your denial.
âwhat? itâs your name!â
âbut you always call me baby or jamie. james is only for when youâre really really mad at me.â
âthatâs because i am!â despite all, your fingers brush away a few curls clinging to his sweaty forehead, his eyes closing at the gentle contact. âmy boyfriend was out there fighting bad people and getting hurt and i had no idea.â
âi already said i was sorry, babyâ he takes your hand fixing his hair and brings it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles.
âand youâre going to tell me everything. with details.â you repeat, the sensation of his warm lips on your skin sending shivers down your spine.
âwhatever you want, baby. now câmere. let me kiss you properly.
summary: you and spencer spend long enough pining over each other, the team helps you along. or: 4 times the team tries to get you and spencer to acknowledge your feelings for each other +1 time it works.
word count: 7.1k
content: fluff, usual criminal minds talk (unsub, kidnapping, etc), probably bau-related inaccuracies, mutual pining (idiots!), team shenanigans, one fake date, and one real one <3
a/n: hill lovelies!! i know it's been so long since i've posted something but i hope u guys will enjoy <3 i had so much fun writing for my sweet boy spencer!! my first spencer longfic!!!
áŻâ
Itâs taken you a few trips to perfect your go bag. To figure out whatâs really necessary and what isnât. Today, lugging your duffel on your shoulder, youâre grateful to have left that second pair of shoes behind.
Your bags always feel a bit heavier after a case. Youâre already weighed down by the events of the last few days, your body tired, feet heavy.
Youâre glad to be the first one to board the plane, sinking into one of the seats and letting your bag drop at your feet. Youâre glad that the case is over, glad to be going home, glad to get to sleep in your own bed tonight (though it'll most likely be morning by the time you get back to Quantico).
The rest of the team follows suit, sighing as they get into their own seats. Spencer and Hotch are the last to board, Hotch always waits until every member is inside before taking his turn, and Spencer often gets distracted telling him some statistic about planes or airports or anything really.
Today, for once, Hotch asks Spencer a follow up question and â delightedly surprised â Spencer keeps talking.
Youâre sitting by the window in one of the front rows on the jet, facing away from the entrance and most of the team. You donât see Spencer climb into the plane, but you hear the shuffling.
Spencer usually sits near the back, playing chess against himself or reading a book and then another since he finishes them so fast. Sometimes, he sits with JJ, even rarer heâll find himself across from Morgan who likes to tease him enough that heâd rather not be there every single flight.
He wants to sit with you, but Spencer has found himself reverting back to his early BAU self where youâre concerned. Shy, fumbling, either rambling or having no clue what to say.
Youâre his friend, youâre kind to him and ask about his mom often. You bring him back a coffee whenever you grab one for yourself (if he beats you to it, he does the same), and itâs always as sweet as he likes it to be. He lends you books he thinks youâll like, and never pesters you for them back even though you know you take forever to return them.
He walks you to your car after work every day, even if heâs finished before you are. You donât know that bit, but he waits until youâre leaving to pack up his stuff and follow you to the elevator.
All of that, and still, Spencer gets nervous around you. He canât even bring himself to sit next to you on the jet even though youâre beside each other at the round table each time without fail.
This time, the teamâs decided to help him along.
Initially, he goes for his usual seat in the back, and finds Emily sprawling files all over the small table despite the fact that she gets nauseous reading on the plane. Behind Spencerâs back, Hotch takes the seat across from her and shakes his head when she winks at him.
Then, itâs Rossi, whoâs fake-arguing with his agent over the phone about his next book. JJâs sprawled across the small couch near the snack bar, digging into a travel-sized bag of Cheetos.
Finally, thereâs Derek, who kicks his feet up onto the seat across from him when Spencer heads toward him. âSorry, pretty boy,â he says, though he doesnât look (or sound) sorry at all, âlooks like youâll have to try your luck over there,â he nods towards where you sit across the aisle.
You, too distracted attempting to dig your thin fleece blanket from your bag, donât notice anything until Spencer clears his throat lightly. You finally tug your blanket from your bag and sit up, looking over at Spencer standing in the aisle, rocking on his feet once.
âDo you mind if I..?â he gestures loosely to the seat next to you.
âOf course not,â you say.
You breathe in as he sits next to you, and he smells like cinnamon and the pages of a book. Warm, comforting. You try not to let it show on your face how pleased you are to have him beside you.
When you joined the team, youâd been the most anxious youâd ever been in your life, and you remember hesitating before walking into the bullpen, wiping your palms on your black pinstriped trousers.
And then, the first face to greet you was Reidâs, and he was so sweet, apologizing for not wanting to shake your hand, spewing a fact about germs and then folding his lips into his mouth like he was stopping himself from saying more. For those few seconds, you werenât thinking about impressing everyone, werenât focused on that pit in your stomach at the thought of so much newness.
You liked him immediately, and his looks only made it all worse for you. His hair disheveled, his clothes neat, his hands waving around in front of him, and his voice, so lovely and focused as he sounded off statistics. Youâve been housing a crush on him ever since.
Youâd heard Morgan call him pretty boy that day, and you couldnât help but think of how fitting it was. Derek may have been teasing, but Spencer really is pretty.
And then you got to know him, got to become a part of the team and learned about his little quirks and the way that he still wouldnât shake hands, but doesnât mind a hug every now and then. You learned that he was pretty inside and out.
So, as he settles in next to you on the jet, you canât help but hide a smile. Youâre on the plane before him most of the time, and heâs never joined you until now.
âI have to warn you,â you say, âI might not be the best seat buddy. I almost always fall asleep after takeoff.â
Spencer shrugs, pushing his hair behind his ear and he pulls his book into his lap, âThatâs alright. I like quiet.â
âWhat if I snore, Reid?â
âYou donât snore,â he tells you.
âMaybe I do. How would you know?â
Rather than admit that he pays attention to you during flights, that he sometimes catches himself staring at you all peaceful in your seat while he waits for his coffee to brew, that he knows you donât snore because heâs seen you sleeping and all you do is bunch your blanket in your fists and scrunch your brow from time to time, like youâre dreaming, he says:
âAmbiance for my reading. Like white noise. You know, having an auditory background can actually support cognitive development and emotional health.â
You smile and shake your head at him. You donât think youâll ever be used to the way he knows something about everything, just like that. Before you can reply, the pilot alerts you all that youâll be taking off shortly.
Spencer opens his book in his lap, and you sink into your seat and close your eyes, squeezing them shut until the jet is up in the air steadily.
Soon enough, youâre falling asleep as promised. For a while, your headâs leaning back against your seat; Spencer canât help but think of how your neck will be sore from the position. Just as he has the thought, the jet jolts a little bit in turbulence, and your head lolls to the side and ends up on his shoulder.
He goes still for a second, afraid youâll wake up from the movement, but you donât. You shift the tiniest bit, almost nuzzling into him, and then you relax again. Your breathing remains steady, and Spencer tamps down a smile as the smell of your shampoo surrounds him.
Across the aisle, Morgan raises an eyebrow, shooting Reid a pointed look. Spencer simply goes back to reading his book.
He doesnât get up to use the bathroom at all, turns pages slower than he usually would, keeps his shoulder and arm still even though he can feel them falling asleep a little. All so that he doesnât disturb you.
Sleep is such a vulnerable state, and although he knows you nap on nearly every flight, he feels like heâs won something by having you resting on him. Like youâre comfortable, like you trust him.
Just for a second, Reid lets himself rest his head against yours.
It isnât until you land that you wake up, the plane hitting the pavement jostling you enough that you blink your eyes open. The first thing you register is the feel of something soft beneath your cheek. When that something soft moves a little, you realize itâs Spencerâs sweater.
Still groggy, you lift your head, âShit. Sorry, Spence. I didnât mean to sleep on you.â
Youâre a bit embarrassed, really. The one time he sits next to you on the jet and you wind up using him as a pillow without his permission.
Meanwhile Spencer doesnât mind one bit. All he can focus on is the sleepy way you called him Spence just now. Usually, itâs Reid, occasionally, itâs Spencer, but this is the first time youâve ever called him Spence. He wants to hear you say it again.
âActually studies show that having weight against you can help to lower your heart rate and lessen anxiety,â he responds.
A smile ghosts across your face, because you know thatâs his way of telling you not to be sorry. âSo, I should be saying âyouâre welcome,â then?â
Yes, he thinks.
-
The team is headed to Portland this time around, and though you still donât enjoy flying (you still need the help of a gravol-induced nap), you donât dislike it as much.
Spencer sits with you more often than he doesnât now. Even with you using him as a pillow half the time. He doesnât seem to mind, which never fails to surprise you whenever you wake up.
Itâs nice, though. Nice enough that you think about what it would be like to nap close to him in other ways.
You picture him on the other side of the bed in your studio apartment, picture yourself on the couch at his place (which youâve only seen once). You imagine what heâd wear when he isnât working, or whether he wears his glasses more often at home.
Youâre snapped out of another daydream when the airport shuttle pulls over in front of the hotel youâre set to be staying at this time around. Youâd landed too late to head to the police station, had left immediately after wrapping up another case, and Hotch determined at least a few hours of sleep would do you all some good.
Heâs the one who goes up to the front desk when you walk inside, and comes back with only four room keys instead of seven and an apologetic Penelope on the phone.
âIâm so sorry my lovely crime fighters. They were pretty full for tonight, so youâll have to double up, my loves.â
None of you can see her, but sheâs smiling on her end of the line. She may have not booked enough rooms on purpose.
Immediately, Emily and JJ pair up and take a key from Hotch, heading to the elevators with their elbows looped together and heads bent like theyâre laughing about something. Morgan snatches up another for himself saying something about needing space for âall of this.â
Rossi shrugs and pairs himself with Aaron (âfor old timeâs sakeâ), which leaves you and Spencer. Hotch hands you the room key with a simple âweâll see you at the station at 8â before he leaves with Dave.
âIs this okay with you?â you ask Spencer. âI could always go to the desk and double check.â
âItâs okay,â he says. âWeâd better go get some sleep while we can.â
And Spencer means it. He doesnât mind sharing a room, itâs not like heâs never had to on a case before. Itâs only that itâs you. He already doesnât know how to act around you most of the time, and this feels like a whole new layer of intimacy and closeness he doesnât know what to do with.
He wants it, of course he does. He would have preferred it in different circumstances, maybe where you werenât pushed together by default, but still.
Spencer lets you lead the way to the elevators and then to the room. You open the door after fumbling with the key a couple of times and muttering about âstupid hotel doors.â
Youâre glad (at least, you think you are) to see two beds when you step inside. Behind you, Spencer locks the door and slides the chain lock into place. Then, he slips past you and sets his things on the bed closest to the door. Itâs safer for you that way, he thinks, if anything were to happen.
You try not to read into it, but youâre reminded of that time youâd been ranting to JJ about your date not taking the side of the sidewalk closest to the road and Spencer overheard.
Itâs not the same thing, you tell yourself. It still makes you feel warm.
âWere you gonna have a shower before bed?â you ask, setting your go bag on your bed.
Spencerâs head flicks over to you âI donât- uh. You go ahead.â
âThanks.â
You grab your things quickly and head into the ensuite bathroom, shutting the door behind you and leaning your head against it. It isnât until he hears the lock click shut that Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall forward.
All youâd said was the word âshowerâ and he could barely manage a sentence.
He unpacks to keep himself busy as the sound of running water fills the room, grabbing his book from his bag and setting it onto the nightstand between beds along with his glasses and a water bottle.
Heâs just finished folding his (few) clothes into a drawer of the dresser when the bathroom door opens and you walk out in nothing but a towel.
There are drops of water running down your neck and shoulders, your eyelashes still wet and thick where they frame your eyes. He tries not to, he really does, but Spencer can feel himself staring at you and he canât seem to make himself stop.
You look beautiful. You always do, but seeing you this way â the way a boyfriend might â is making his heart thump heavier, his fingers twitching by his sides.
You clear your throat, nervous under his gaze that seems so focused and yet so soft. âSorry. I forgot to grab my pajamas⊠so.â
Itâs then that he realizes heâs blocking your path, and he quickly steps aside, bumping into the dresser clumsily. âOh! Right, yeah. Iâll just-â
Spencer grabs his own change of clothes and closes himself into the bathroom. The mirror is still fogged up from the steam, but he starts up the shower again, hoping itâll help clear his head. Snap him back into it.
When he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of plaid pants and a faded t-shirt, he sees you in bed, your own loose shirt on, legs covered by the blankets, and a book in your lap.
âWhat are you reading?â
âItâs silly,â you say, setting it face-down on the bed, a little embarrassed. âJust a romance. None of that smart stuff you read.â
âAll reading is smart,â he tells you. âItâs not silly. Itâs good for you.â
âIâm just saying itâs not, like, in Latin or anything.â
He huffs a laugh, settling into his own bed and sliding his glasses onto his face. So he does wear them more outside of work, you observe. He looks so lovely this way, too. His hair still damp and curling behind his ears, his cheeks rosy behind the frames. It feels like a privilege, getting to see him so.. unguarded.
âIâve read romances, you know,â he says.
âWhat?â
âMostly the classics. Jane Austen, the BrontĂ«s.â
Youâre not sure why it surprises you so much, but it does. You suppose youâve always thought that Spencerâs idea of reading for enjoyment was beyond romance, more complicated, scientific. But you shouldâve known heâs read just about everything by now.
âYou, Doctor Spencer Reid, have read Pride and Prejudice?â
ââYou have bewitched me, body and soul,ââ is his response.
âOh my god.â A smile stretches onto your face, slowly mirrored on Spencerâs.
You end up staying awake later than you should talking about which movie adaptation you prefer (â2005. Obviously.â), about other books youâve both read, and then about their adaptations, too. Over time you both sink deeper and deeper into bed until youâre laying down facing each other.
Youâre not even sure when you fall asleep, all you know is that Spencerâs voice is the last thing you hear, all slow and soft with his own tiredness.
When you wake up, youâre still facing each other, laying on the sides of your beds as close to the other as possible. Spencerâs arm hangs loosely over the edge, like heâd been reaching across the gap for you in his sleep.
-
The next case is only a week later, but you donât have to fly this time around.
Itâs only a 15 minute drive from Quantico, and thatâs without the sirens and Morgan behind the wheel. That means you get to set up in your usual office, sleep in your bed for a couple of hours when you can. Youâre never happy to have a case, because people are getting hurt, but itâs a small victory to not have to go far.
Two abductions have happened at local parks, though no bodies have turned up yet. Youâve all been working as quickly as possible, trying to keep those people alive.
Hotch gathers you all in the conference room the morning of day three on the case, delivering roles as usual. JJ to stay in the office and field calls or answer questions, Emily and Morgan to dig deeper into the victims, retracing their steps, Rossi and Hotch to scout the abduction sites again for anything theyâve missed.
Youâve found a man that has been connected to both victims, but not enough to bring him in, which is why, when he gets to you and Spencer, he says:
âYou two will be following our suspect today.â
You look at each other, then back to Hotch.
Reid speaks first. âBut the geographical profile isnât done, and-â
âWe donât have anything new for the geographical profile,â Hotch responds.
âMight be good for you to go outside, pretty boy,â Morgan says. âCould use some sunlight, probably.â
âActually itâs extremely unlikely that anyone could die from prolonged darkness,â Spencer shoots back. âPlus, we have windows.â
âThis is where I need you two,â Aaron looks between you and Spencer, âalright?â
âIâll drive,â you say as your agreement.
Itâs not unusual to do stakeouts, though you donât do them often. Whatâs unusual is choosing you and Reid for the job that most often goes to Morgan. You canât bring yourself to be bothered, not when it means youâll get to spend more time with Spencer.
Despite his putting up a fight, Spencer doesnât really mind either. Sure, he feels like he can be more helpful doing something else, but ever since sharing a room in Portland heâs wanted to be with you alone.
There was an ease then, a comfort that didnât come when the rest of the team was around. Youâd spoken to each other before bed each night, falling asleep to the sounds of each otherâs voices, and Spencer hadnât even wanted to pack up when the case was over.
If he could have stayed one more night with you there, caught the jet in the morning instead, he would have. Happily.
Ever since that case, he does feel a little less awkward around you, though, and sometimes he wonders if you feel a little bit closer to him, too.
As promised, you drive. Instead of taking a bureau vehicle, Hotch had asked you to take your own. Heâd said youâd be less noticeable that way, and that backup would always be close enough if needed.
You unlock your car in the parking lot, watching Spencer climb into your passenger seat beside you. He shuts the door behind him, buckles his seatbelt, and flicks the air freshener you have hanging over your rear view mirror.
âI can take it down if the smell bothers you,â you say.
âItâs nice,â he tells you. Birthday cake, he notices, and he wonders quickly if thatâs why you sometimes smell like vanilla when you walk into the bullpen.
âOkay. Feel free to snoop.â
He smiles gently, because heâd been trying to secretly do just that. Your car is mostly clean, a few gun wrappers in the doors and a half-full water bottle in the backseat, but thatâs it. Your glovebox is pretty standard, though he does find a loose figurine in it.
You notice him holding it. âThatâs my car buddy. Keeps me company when nobody else is in here.â
âWonât be needing him today,â Spencer says, putting it back and shutting the compartment.
âNo, I wonât.â
The man youâre set to be following is still home when you get there, so you drive around the block and wait by the corner until he leaves.
Luckily, you donât have to wait very long.
âHeâs getting into his car,â Spencer tells you.
âAnd the fun begins,â you say, turning the corner once the man has pulled out of his driveway.
It turns out not to be fun, actually. Itâs all very routine and normal stuff. A grocery trip, dropped back at his house before heading out again. An overpriced drive-thru coffee where he actually pays for the car behind him, which happened to be you and Spencer.
âEither heâs onto us, or heâs actually just doing a nice thing,â you say once youâve gotten your drinks. âI didnât think people bought other peopleâs coffees anymore.â
âI would have bought yours,â is Spencerâs response. Quiet and sweet and almost disappointed, like heâd wanted to spend money on you.
Eventually, your target stops at a park, which has both you and Spencer back on high alert. Both abductions happened at parks. You look at each other and get out of your car to follow him.
You notice that the man is carrying a pair of binoculars and a camera, which raises your suspicions even further. Heâs equipped to scope out victims.
Spencer works easily alongside you, falling into step without question, going where he needs to without needing to say a word.
The man walks up and joins a group, some wearing cargo vests and almost all of them wearing matching hats with the same logo on them.
You sigh and dial Hotchâs number.
âWhat do you have?â
âHey, this isnât our guy,â you tell him.
âWhyâs that?â
âHis big secret isâŠâ you look back at the group, âbird watching. Itâs why heâs been spotted at a lot of the parks.â
âYouâre sure itâs not just a cover?â
âHotch, thereâs a group of at least twenty people with him. Itâs a bird watching club.â
âActually a lot of people, especially of younger generations, just call it birding now,â Spencer chimes in.
You smile. Always something to say.
âOkay, well, why donât you two have lunch and meet us back here after?â
You scrunch your eyebrows. âYou donât want us back now?â
âWeâre not any closer than we were before, and it might be good for you two to be at the park a little longer,â Hotch tells you. âJust in case.â
âRight, okay,â you say, though youâre still not convinced. âSee you later.â
You hang up and turn to Spencer. He squints in the sunlight, hair blowing over his forehead. Your hand itches to reach out and push it back for him. Spencer does it himself just as you have the thought.
You clear your throat, âHotch says to get lunch and then head back.â
âI saw a stand back there with chili cheese fries,â he says.
Spencer doesnât know why, for once, Hotch is encouraging a break during a case, but heâs not about to fight him on it. Without a BAU-related task to do at the moment, he gets to simply be there with you. Just you and Spencer in a park, getting food.
If he thinks about it for long enough, he can almost see the both of you like this together in more natural circumstances. Maybe then, heâd be brave enough to hold your hand.
âDaydreaming about those fries, Spence?â
He looks over at you, the sun lighting you from behind, surrounding you like a halo. âNo, just⊠thinking.â
Thereâs something about the way he says it, about the way his eyes are roaming your face and his voice has gone a little bit lower, scratchier, that makes your heart beat heavier.
Before you can respond, heâs leading the way to the food stand, you not far behind. He places your order and pays before you can object.
Youâre stationed at one of the picnic tables in a few minutes, a splinter of wood poking the back of your thigh through your pants, but you donât move. Not when Spencerâs shin is resting against yours beneath the table.
The platter of chili fries sits in the middle of the table, a fork in each of your hands.
âDonât you have a statistic in there about the dangers of sharing food?â you ask.
âI do,â he says, âbut I donât particularly.. care about that right now.â
-
You get a longer break before youâre called in for the next case, which is nice. You get to be home earlier, sleep in your sheets and spend the weekend lazily.
Thereâs a minuscule shift between you and Spencer since the park. An ease that wasnât there before, a string tied in neat little bows tethering the two of you together.
Heâs at his desk before you every morning, and thereâs always a coffee waiting for you with a small sticky note attached. Sometimes heâll leave you a fun fact, sometimes a simple good morning.
The last note youâd gotten before this case was just a doodle of a lopsided smiley face, which youâd stuck to the corner of your computer.
You think about those notes, those coffees as you sit in the NYPD headquarters, twirling a paper cup between your hands. Not nearly as good as when Spencer makes it.
Youâre sitting beside him in a conference room where Hotch has gathered the team, your ankle leaning against his.
âWe arenât any closer to finding this unsub,â Hotch says. âWeâre gonna have to draw him out.â
âUndercover, huh?â Emily asks, a subtle smirk on her face.
âYes. We know how he hunts. He looks for couples in bars, waits for them to go outside, usually a couple thatâs arguing,â Hotch says, though you all already know this. âHe waits for them to split up, then takes the woman. Heâs deluded himself into thinking heâs doing these women a favor. Like heâs saving them.â
âProbably because they remind him of his mother, who was abused by his father, and the unsub was too weak at the time to stop it,â Rossi adds.
âHeâs been targeting the same three bars on rotation, so we know where heâll be tonight,â Hotch tells the team.
âAnd you want a pair of us to go undercover.. as a couple?â you ask. Itâs not like youâve never gone undercover before, but pretending to be dating someone? Youâre not the best actress.
âThatâs correct.â
âI actually think you and Spencer should do it,â Emily says.
âWhat?â Reid speaks at the same time as you do.
âYou are the unsubâs type,â Emily tells you.
âEw,â is your response.
âAnd I think pretty boy over here is your best match, sweetheart,â Derek adds.
âIâm not-â
âI actually think thatâs a good idea,â Hotch says.
And so, itâs been decided.
Thereâs a short silence, and then Spencer speaks. âAre we sure this is the best way to do this?â
âItâs okay, Spence,â you tell him, laying a hand over his forearm that lays on the table, his fingers tapping the wood. His cardigan is soft under your hand, and you give his arm a gentle squeeze.
He turns to you, speaking quietly this time, âWhat if something- I would rather I was the one being followed. Not you.â
Your eyes soften at his words, at the way he looks down when he says them. You run your thumb back and forth against the fabric of his sweater once, twice. âIâll be okay. Youâll be there, and everyone else. Weâll get him.â
âI know. I just donât want him to have time to hurt you.â
Your heart pinches. You donât think youâve ever seen him so worried, especially not in front of other people. And he isnât even worried about himself. His concern is you.
âHe wonât,â you say.
You turn back to Hotch, and he gives you a nod, âLetâs catch him.â
âAnd pretty boy becomes lover boy,â Morgan says.
A few hours later youâre dressed in a black mini dress and a pair of knee-high boots, a (nonalcoholic) drink in your hand and Spencer by your side. Your entire side, from shoulder to thigh, is pressed against his where you stand at the bar, warmth sinking into you.
The unsub likes to observe the bar for a while, usually picking a couple and watching them for a couple hours before making his move. That means that youâve spent a while being Spencerâs girlfriend.
Fake girlfriend, you remind yourself.
Still, if you let yourself forget, just for a second, that youâre on a case, it feels real enough. His hand on your lower back guiding you through the crowd, his chest brushing against your back on the dance floor.
And now, his arm wrapping itself around your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your dress.
You both have earpieces in, where the teamâs been communicating with you (a ânice moves, lover boyâ from Derek, or âlook at you twoâ from Emily, and even a âthat dress is brilliant, pumpkinâ from Penelope).
âI think we have eyes on our guy,â Hotch says now.
Youâre almost disappointed when he gives you the signal to head outside. You like being with Spencer like this, and despite the fact that youâre undercover and pretending, you want to stay in it a bit longer.
You obey Hotchâs orders anyway, saying something to Spencer and then slipping out the back door that opens into an alley, Spencer on your heels.
It turns out that pretending to fight with him is the hardest part.
You end up making something up about his eyes wandering, even though you donât think he looked at anyone else the entire night.
He plays along, defending himself and using words he knows will trigger the unsub. Spencerâs demeanor changes, making himself look more intimidating. He stands up straighter, walks you backwards until you land against the wall, his hands coming up and caging you in.
Your heart races, and not because youâre afraid. Because of how close he is, how you can smell him and feel how warm he is and see that despite his facade of anger his eyes are still unfailingly kind.
Finally, you shove him off of you and storm away. As expected, the unsub emerges out of the shadows, following you down the sidewalk and out of Spencerâs sight.
His stomach sinks. Heâd been doing okay when you were beside him, when he knew he could protect you even when heâs well aware that youâre strong, one of the strongest people he knows. You donât need him to protect you, but he wants to so badly.
Spencer canât help himself, he speaks into the microphone attached to his cuff, âGuys, what's happening?â
âSheâs okay,â Emily says. âHeâs definitely following her, but he hasn't tried anything yet.â
âWe need to wait for him to make contact,â comes from Hotch.
âWhat if he-â Spencer stars.
âWe have to make this stick, kid,â Morgan tells him.
Spencer knows heâs right. It still doesnât sit well with him, the thought of a manâs hands on you when he canât do anything about it.
Your boots click against the pavement, Hotchâs voice in your ears telling you to keep going, that the unsub is getting closer. Just as a warning sounds in your ear, thereâs a hand on your wrist.
The grip is tight, pinching your skin enough to leave a mark, but you donât show it. Itâs only seconds until the team and police officers come out of hiding and arrest him, effectively pulling his hands off of you.
Your hand circles the wrist heâd grabbed, rubbing the skin. It isnât even a minute before Spencer finds you standing by one of the cars on scene, your face lit up by red and blue. He can feel the relief wash over him like a wave. Youâre okay, alive. And so, so pretty.
âHey, Spence,â you say when you see him walk up.
âAre you alright?â he asks, gesturing to where you hold your wrist.
âOh, itâs nothing. Just a tight grip. Iâve been through worse.â
He nods. âLet me see.â
You hold out your arm, and he gently grabs your wrist and pushes your sleeve out of the way, his fingertips running over your skin, his eyes scanning it. His hands are warm where they hold you, and his skin on yours makes your stomach swirl.
âIâm okay, really.â
âI know,â he says. His eyes lift to your face, soft. âI just- I donât want you to ever have to do that again.â
You give him a tiny smile. âItâs part of the job, Spence. Besides, I thought we made a pretty good team.â
âI donât want to have to worry about you being safe. I want to know you are.â
Oh, you think. And you know, can hear it in the sound of his voice, that it has absolutely nothing to do with your abilities, he just cares.
You shift your hand to tangle your fingers with his, and for once, Spencer doesnât even think of his aversion to shaking hands.
âIâm safe now,â you tell him.
His thumb traces a circle against your palm.
-
+1
The team tries to get together at least once a month. Sometimes trying different local restaurants, more often taking advantage of Rossiâs mansion and lovely backyard when the weather allows.
Youâre all flexible, you have to be when you do what you do, so youâre used to rescheduling or switching things up last minute.
This time around, itâs a little too much switching.
A suspicious amount.
First, itâs JJ, saying that Henry is just being far too clingy tonight for her to be able to skip bedtime. âWill wonât be able to get him to sleep, he can be pretty stubborn,â sheâd said.
And you understand, of course you do. You give her a quick hug when she leaves the office, and she tells you to âhave fun tonight,â with something shining in her eyes that you canât quite place.
Then, itâs Morgan, who gives no explanation besides him holding up his phone saying heâs just received an âoffer he canât refuseâ and then strolling out with his jacket slung over his shoulder.
Weird, you think. Not entirely out of character for Morgan, but weird.
And ten minutes later, when Emily finishes up her paperwork, checks her phone, gasps dramatically, and says that she has to get back because Sergio was trapped in her curtains, or something, itâs even weirder.
âCurtains?â you ask as she collects her stuff.
âCanât stay, Serg needs me!â is all she says and then sheâs gone.
Another few minutes, and Penelope comes by, looking apologetic.
âNot you too,â you all but whine.
âSorry, my pretty! Internet emergency. My friendâs boyfriend might be cheating, and I have to help a sister in need!â
âBut-â
She smacks a kiss on your cheek and leaves, her heels clicking as she goes.
âWhereâs she going?â Spencer asks, walking up to your desk, bag slung over his shoulder.
âSomething about catching a cheater,â you say. âAnd JJ, Morgan, and Emily are all out.â
âWhat?â he asks, leaning against the edge of your desk. âThatâs strange.â
âI know. Itâs barely even a team dinner anymore. Just us and the fathers, I guess.â
âActually, Rossiâs not coming. He said something about being on deadline, needing to finish a chapter.â
âOh.â
âAnd Hotch said heâll meet us there, soâŠâ
âJust us and one father, then.â
Spencer leads you out of the bullpen, and you walk to the elevator, then outside. The restaurant isnât too far from the office, and with spring settling in, the weather is nice enough to want to walk. So you do.
He walks on the side the closest to the road, one hand wrapped around the strap of his bag, the other swinging between you. Your knuckles brush every few steps, and Spencer seems to be slowing his strides just a little bit to stay right next to you.
It makes you feel warm despite the wind biting at your cheeks.
Just as you walk up to the restaurant, both you and Spencerâs phones buzz.
You pull it out of your back pocket and find a message from Hotch: âJackâs not feeling well. See you tomorrow.â
âSo, just us,â you say.
âJust us,â Spencer echoes.
âDo you still want to.. Iâd get it if youâd rather reschedule it to be an actual team dinner.â
âI donât want to reschedule,â he tells you.
Before you can respond or think too hard about the soft way heâd spoken, Spencer is walking up to the door and holding it for you, the bell jingling as he tugs it open.
You blink at him, and then take the hint and walk inside. âI didnât even know Hotch knew how to make a group chat.â
âWhatâs a group chat?â Spencer asks.
You sigh out a little laugh. âItâs comforting to know that there are at least some things you donât know, Dr. Reid.â
âItâs actually pretty much impossible to know everything.â
âTo know Iâm better than you at something, then.â
âYouâre better than me at a lot of things,â he says.
And then the hostess is greeting you, leading you to a small table pressed up against one of the windows, and depositing some menus for you to look over.
Rossi had picked the place this time, a small, family-owned Italian restaurant with classic red and white tablecloths and candles sitting atop each table lighting the place in a soft glow.
Itâs funny, you think, that heâd pick a place just to not show up. Even funnier that heâd choose somewhere so⊠romantic. With a single rose in a vase on every table, dim lighting, mostly small tables.
The thought slips out before you can really stop it, âYou know, this almost feels like a date. With just the two of us here.â
Spencer looks up from the menu when you say it, his heart thumping. You look beautiful, he thinks. You do every day, even tired or with a split lip. Beautiful whenever he sees you, but it hits him harder now.
The way the candlelight flickers across your face, your eyes sparkling in it, the strap of your top slipping slowly off your shoulder. He wants to reach out and fix it for you. To let his fingers linger.
Heâd thought about being brave with you that day in the park, and maybe he still isnât as brave as heâd like to be, but heâs brave enough to say, âWould that be such a bad thing? Us on a date, I mean.â
You search his face, almost as if you donât believe him. Like youâd imagined it, but heâs searching your face, too. Waiting for you to respond. The toe of your shoe skims his shin.
âNo, Spence. Not bad at all.â
He smiles, so gently, spreading over his face slowly, flickering like heâd been trying to suppress it and failed.
âGood. Thatâsâ thatâs good. Iâd like it to be one. A date.â
âReally?â
âI know itâs customary to ask before youâre already sitting at the restaurant, but-â
You find his hand on the table, laying your palm over the back of it, cutting him off. âIâd like that, too.â
He turns his hand around and links his fingers with yours.
And just like that, youâre on a date with Spencer Reid. It feels almost natural, like this is how youâve always been with each other, with only a small layer of nerves at the newness of it all.
Youâve been so used to keeping your crush on him to yourself that it seems like a dream to be sitting here, but it isnât. You talk about the food, Spencer easily telling you every dish's origins. You laugh and he asks about what book youâre reading now, and you tell him and he listens.
He points out different Italian musicians playing throughout the night, you eat your food and split a dessert. He traps your ankle between his calves when your leg wanders, and you let him keep it there.
Spencer pays and you slap his wrist lightly for not letting you chip in. Then youâre walking back to the parking lot. Admittedly, you walk a lot slower this time, like youâre both dragging the evening out. This time, when your hands brush, Spencer grabs yours, and puts your joined hands in his jacket pocket.
Back at your car, you lean your back against the driverâs side door, Spencer stands not far from you.
âSo we agree that they ditched us on purpose, right?â you ask him, your hand still in his now swinging between your bodies.
âOh, absolutely.â Spencer smiles. âThough Iâm not sure if we should be thanking them or getting them back for it.â
âMmm, let âem sweat. I think this would have happened either way,â you say.
âMe too.â And suddenly Spencerâs face is closer to yours, only a breath away, his free hand coming up to prop himself up against your car, framing you in.
Your eyes flicker between his, and you shift a little bit closer, tugging his tie between the fingers of the hand that isnât holding his.
âCan I?â he asks, and you simply give his tie a gentle yank and his lips are on yours.
áŻâ
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