pairing: spencer reid x f!reader
cw: fluff, private-not-secret relationship, spencer reid being awkward, talk of blood/bullets/guns/drugs, talk of a mass shooting event, swearing, proof-read in the middle of the night and without my glasses on…
a/n: i just realized criminal minds in on disney+ and hulu and started to rewatch… meaning i’m cheesing over spencer reid all over again. i’m also studying to be a forensic scientist, preferably a toxicologist, so this is fully self indulgent, no shame in my game. i’ve also never really written for cm so this might be jank… sorry in advance. don’t know if people would want a p2 but i’m SO open to it bc i have ideas
Dating Doctor Spencer Reid comes with many perks.
He naturally remembers everything you say, everything you like and reference—what your body likes—courtesy of his eidetic memory— and the genuine care and passion he has for wanting to learn those things about you.
He’s never late for dates, showing up with your favorite flowers or candy, sometimes even both, along with a shy smile and pink cheeks.
Spencer has read all your favorite books simply because he wants to be able to discuss them with you, to see your face light up when talking about different plot points, twists, and characters. That glow you get rivals anything he’s seen before.
This is all, of course, ignoring the fact that he works for the FBI as a profiler. And the fact that you also work for the FBI as a toxicologist just a handful of floors down from him.
You had never interacted with the BAU before meeting him, having joined the year before as the lead analyst in the labs. You had a mountain of work to sort out, old case files, test results, and junk sat piled high in what was your new office.
The thought of trying to meet and become aquatinted with the other departments was not in your top priorities. You just figured you’d meet liaisons and agents as needed, unless someone’s sought you out first.
The day you did meet Dr. Spencer Reid changed everything.
It had been a normal slow day, relatively speaking. There hadn’t been an influx of new evidence that needed to be processed, no new blood samples, or fingerprints, ballistics, or mysterious white powders. You had divided up the work and given it out to the analysts under your command so you could crack down on sorting the seemingly Sisyphean task ahead when someone knocked on your office door.
With your lab coat thrown over your chair, hair tied up in a sloppy pony tail, and music playing softly on your computer, you weren’t fully prepared for any interruptions.
When he entered you were immediately blown away by him, light brown hair curling just slightly at the ends with strands of it falling into his eyes, which were scrunched in confusion. The man was tall, but he had the mannerisms of someone who was uncomfortable in their height, like a fawn taking its first steps.
“Is Dr. Roman here?” He had asked, voiced twinged with confusion and a borderline discomfort. His fingers tapped together, almost anxiously, in front of him.
Still accustomed to the transition phase, you responded easily. “Dr. Roman retired about a year ago. I’ve since taken over his job and can help you with whatever you need.”
The words flowed easily and confidently out of your mouth and you were already sliding the pile of case files off your lap and onto your desk, hand extended, your name thrown out for him to learn, and intent on making a new connection.
He smiled tightly, giving your hand a brief glance before simply waving.
“I don’t shake hands. The number of pathogens passed between people during a handshake is shocking—“
“It’s safer to kiss, I know.” You finished his fact easily, cutting into his usual deflection like it was nothing. And you had an easy smile on your face, something that threw Spencer off. “My undergraduate and masters may be in forensics, but I focused my doctorate on an individual’s microbiome and the things that disrupt it, pathogens, viruses, drugs, the such. I used that study in my thesis.”
Spencer’s eyes had widen and he seemed to be looking at you differently now. His lips parted slightly.
“Most people think I’m crazy for saying that,” He said with a small, slightly awkward smile.
You shrugged, humming slightly, “That’s fair. I tried to care about it, but when I’m elbows deep in diacetylmorphine every day, it felt like overkill.”
“Heroin, really? You know that’s surprising given that the Metro PD has reported that cocaine is more commonly abused than heroin in DC.” He said, folding his arms over his chest. With that simple back and forth, his body language has loosened and looked less stiff than he did when he entered.
“Still a lot of it out there. Metro doesn’t really need our help with cocaine, but heroin gives them trouble for some reason.” You said, grinning at him. Your eyes flick over him unabashedly, “I like you a lot. You’re not an analyst?”
His eyebrows jumped to his hairline and a faint blush dotted his cheeks and neck. He sputtered over his words before choking out a response. “Me? No, no. I’m just a… just a profiler. I don’t really do all the machines that well. I’m better with my head.”
“Profiler?” You repeated, brain catching on that part and sticking to it, “You’re with the BAU?”
He nodded shallowly, face still pink.
“You guys are legends, you know that? All the cases you guys cover. It’s amazing. I’ve read a lot about you guys. What- What did you need help with? I didn’t think I had an BAU cases down here.” You said quickly, mind running a mile a minute. Your hands were already moving to search your email for any missed information— why would the BAU be in your office?
He chuckled quietly, “You don’t. I was just going over an old cold case that Dr. Roman did the analyses on. I had a few… questions about the procedures he reported.”
You looked up from your computer, frowning slightly. “Everything I know would be in the files you have. Roman left me nothing but a mess, as you can see.”
“Really? This isn’t you?” He mused, giving you a coy grin.
A small laugh left you and you pushed your tongue into your cheek as you looked at him.
“I never got your name, you know.” You said bluntly, not one to shy from what you wanted— and you could definitely see wanting him.
“Reid, uh, sorry. Spencer Reid.” He said.
You nodded with an easy smile, “Well, Spencer, I don’t have what you’re looking for now, but if you need any blood or drugs looked at, you know where to find me,” You lean forwards, hands placed on your desk to balance you, “Or, you know, a coffee date, I’m good for everything, really.”
After that day, you and Spencer went on that coffee date. And many more dates too.
He likes to claim that he made the first move by officially asking you to join him at his favorite coffee and book shop, but if any pressure was applied Spencer would gladly admit that you had made the first move that day.
Your relationship blossomed. It was steady, despite both of you working weird hours and getting called into work at any hour on the weekends.
But neither one of you were quick to go boasting about it.
Sure, your Instagram posts and stories feature him frequently and he wears a friendship bracelet you made him while watching some shitty romcom a weekend he was in god knows what state.
Your relationship isn’t a secret. You’d tell anyone who asked, really.
Everything with him was so natural that it never felt like a big change happened. Spencer bled into your life seamlessly.
You guys spend weekends at your apartment. It has warmer lighting, a nicer bathroom, and was farther from the office. It’s a nice break from the otherwise depressing workplace. Weeknights are spent at Spencer’s place. It’s closer to the FBI and has a mix of your books and his, a handful of your craft supplies mixed with his first editions and coveted chess board. He got along great with your family and friends, and you with his mother.
Things are easy between you and Spencer. Neither of you ever felt the need to tell the world about it.
However, your coworkers knew more about it than his because Spencer loves to find his way down to your office for lunch, when he’s actually in Virginia. His presence down in the Bat Lab, as the all the techs called it, became a norm.
Spencer would come down, lunch in hand, and make his way to your office, often coming in without knocking. If he saw you prancing around the lab, floating between machines rather gracefully in his eyes, he’d wave at you before disappearing into your office, waiting for you to finish up.
You have offered to come up to eat lunch with him dozens of times, but he insists on coming down to you.
“It’s calmer down here.” He’s said.
Really, you knew he sometimes needed a break from his coworkers. Being surrounded by profilers all day seemed tiring, even if there was an unofficial rule not to profile each other.
You never minded. It makes your life easier to stay down here. Plus, you get to be in your private office with your boyfriend for a short while— not that you two have defiled the place, just a few heated makeouts here and there.
One day, he leaves his cardigan on his chair in your office. The green piece of clothing forgotten after you two had feverishly made out against the wooden door that separated you from your coworkers.
He left quickly after receiving a page from Hotch. You breathed out a goodbye and barely managed to wipe your lipstick from his chin before he left.
An hour, maybe that, has passed before you notice it. You come back into your office, still wearing all your protection equipment, searching for a case number when you see it.
You stare at it, knowing how he complains that the bullpen gets chilly in the winter months. You know you should bring it up to him, rather than hear him complain about how he was cold tonight.
You pause grabbing the fabric. You’ve never really met his coworkers, his friends really. Your relationship isn’t a secret, but you know he isn’t overly eager to talk about his private matters at work. Shaking your head, you decide to bring him the damn cardigan. You’re his girlfriend, for Christ’s sake, you can bring him his cardigan without it being weird.
As you head to the elevators, you tell your assistant that you’ll be back in 10 (although she doesn’t question you after seeing the familiar piece of clothing in your hand).
It’s only in the elevator that you realize your lab coat is still on and your goggles are resting in the top of your head. You figure you probably look crazy enough with the white coat on, so you take the googles off and shove them into a pocket, hoping it doesn’t look too suspicious.
When the elevator dings for the sixth floor, you and a couple others get off. They disperse before you can even see where they’re heading too and you move towards the collection of desks.
Spencer has talked enough about their office space in the building for you to understand the general layout of it, thanks to his incredible memory, but luckily, you don’t have to search for long.
He sees you almost instantly when you set off the elevator. Surely, Morgan and Prentiss noticed when he zoned out of the conversation, it was just some workplace small talk so it didn’t really matter anyways.
His eyes lock onto you as you move in his direction, brows twisted into confusion and already starting to chew on the inside of his lip— something you’d nag him for later, he’s sure.
Spencer doesn’t let you get more than a few steps in before he quickly moves to you, abruptly cutting off his friends.
“Reid—“ Morgan scoffs, arms thrown out in confusion. Him and Prentiss share a look as they watch him intercept you.
Your face flickers in warm recognition as he approaches, “Spence.”
“W-What are you doing up here?” Spencer asks you, looking concerned. His eyes flit over you, assessing you for any injury or problem that would have you come up to see him. You don’t miss the way he shifts in front of you, almost like he’s trying to block you from the rest of the room.
“Your cardigan, silly.” You say, holding it up. “You left it in my office. I didn’t want you to be cold. Or hear you complain about it tonight, if I’m being honest.”
He looks at the item like it’s the strangest thing in the world, like it didn’t even cross his mind or phase him. Spencer takes it from you, muttering a quiet thanks.
“I thought something was wrong when I saw you walk in.” His voice is low, something meant for just you. Spencer’s hand raises, the warmth of his knuckles ghosting over the bottom of your jaw, before he lowers it and simply takes his cardigan from you.
Your lips pull into a smile before you bit your bottom lip to hide it. “What would’ve happened in the past, what, hour since lunch? I’m more worried about you getting frostbite on me.”
“Frostbite?” He mumbles, brows pulling together again, “Frostbite only occurs on exposed skin when the temperature is below thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. The likelihood of developing it increases greatly when exposure is—“
“I was being dramatic, Spence.” You say gently, taking a half step closer to him and placing your hand on his chest. “I know you’re not going to get frostbite in the office.”
His cheeks flush and Spencer brushes a stray strand of hair away from his face.
He doesn’t get a chance to respond when someone shouts his name from the bullpen, “Reid.”
Spencer turns quick and you peek from around him.
A man in a crisp suit and a stern look motions for him to head to another room, the people he was talking to already heading there.
“Hotch is ready to present the case.” He mutters, facing you again. Spencer frowns almost imperceptibly, but you know him well enough to notice all the minuscule changes. “We’ll probably be leaving soon… Star Trek rain check?”
You nodded easily, “Obviously, Spence. I’m not crazy. Just— text me where you end up flying off to and when you’re heading home, ‘kay?”
“Yes, of course, sweetheart. I always do.” He says softly.
You stare at him for a moment, unsure how open he is to embracing potentially—probably—in front of his coworkers.
Before you let yourself second guess it too much, you throw your arms around his neck, practically tackling him in a hug. Spencer catches you with a practiced maneuver of his hands around your waist.
“Come back in one piece, yeah?” You whisper, always worrying about his safety when chasing after serial killers.
Spencer holds you tighter for a second before leering you pull back, but his hands stay on your waist.
It’s a simple word, but he says it in a promising way that doesn’t let you second guess it.
The call of his name is firmer, agitated.
Spencer slowly lets you go and takes a few steps away before turning and awkwardly speed walking towards the man.
You watch him retreat up a short set of stairs and into the same room his coworkers went into, catching the meaningful look he shoots you before disappearing.
Your phone rings with a sudden, sharp buzz. Your work ringtone.
Quickly snatching it from your lab coat pocket, avoiding your bulky goggles still there, you pull it out. Your assistant’s name flashes in the screen.
“Hello?” You say, answering the phone and turning back to the elevator.
“Hey! You better get down here quick. A couple people just shot up the mall. All the evidence is coming here.”
Her words stall you, a pang of worry shooting through you. You throw a look back towards the bullpen as the elevator doors ding open.
“Holy shit. I’m getting into the elevator right now. I’ll be back down in a second—“
Before you can get too much further, she cuts you off, “This is the third mass shooting event in DC in the past month. I heard Metro’s requesting the BAU for help.”
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
snowghoul
pixelskylines
