♡︎ reader notices spencer around college and becomes infatuated.
2nd person, reader's pov.
warnings/content: like one use of y/n, pining and yearning, self-deprecating thoughts/talk, allusions to a past abusive relationship
wc: ~ 3.8k
author's note: welcome to my series Yaaayyyy!!!! butch lesbian spencer reid is real to me okay. also!! i apologise for any inaccuracies about the college setting there may be, i am not american and don't know a whole lot about how the education systems work over there!
You had first seen him in the library. Your eyes had been drawn to the subtle butch pin on his bag like iron to a magnet. Until your gaze found his face, and then you couldn't look away.
The way his wavy hair fell across his face as he studied a textbook with the cutest look of concentration on his face had your heart melting. Now, you weren't a femme who would go after someone the minute you found out they identify as a butch — you've had many wonderful friendships with butches throughout your life — but you couldn't deny how gorgeous he was.
The friend you were with when you'd first noticed him, Tara, had been talking for thirty seconds before she realised your attention was elsewhere. A knowing smile twitching onto her lips, she nudged you. "You there?" she had teased.
You blinked, turning your focus back to her — a somewhat difficult task — and shrugged. "Sorry. I zoned out."
"I noticed."
A roll of your eyes made her chuckle, and she continued, "You're staring at that person over there."
Knowing there was no use denying it, especially not to Tara, you huffed a sigh. "So what?"
"He's exactly your type. You should go talk to him."
"Okay, um, one," you had scoffed, shaking your head, "I don't have a type. And two, I don't even know them..."
"I'm choosing to ignore your first comment to inform you that I know him. His name's Spencer," Tara replied.
Once you had a name to go with his pretty face, you began seeing him everywhere. You were always too nervous to actually talk to him — the rare "hi" in passing was the furthest you got — so you decided to admire him from afar.
He's in one of your classes, and you're still unsure how you'd never spotted him before that day in the library. Maybe he joined late, or just sat out of your view. Either way, once you realised you share a class together, you started noticing more about him. You would sit in the back row of a lecture, your eyes flitting over to him whenever he wasn't looking. He was always taking notes, and as he did, his hair would fall into his eyes. You wondered how it would feel to gently push it back behind his ear. You'd see the way his free hand would fidget with the corner of his page as he wrote. And the way he would rest his chin on his palm while he paid attention to the lecture.
Despite the fact that Tara knows him, she says they're 'casual friends', you've been unable to muster up the courage to speak to him. You're afraid of embarrassing yourself, of sounding lame or creepy, or of accidentally coughing all over him and therefore disgusting him into thinking you're a gross freak. You know the last scenario is exceedingly unlikely to happen, but it doesn't stop you from worrying.
Today you're sitting outside eating lunch, enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun, knowing it will turn cold within a few weeks. Your friend, Emily, is talking about something that happened in her linguistics lecture while her arm is wrapped cosily around her femme, Penelope. The two have been together for a while, and you've always thought they're such a perfect fit, and although you would never admit it to anyone but Tara, you're a little jealous of their relationship. They're the perfect opposites attract: Emily, an alternative butch who dresses in gothic outfits and listens to Siouxsie and the Banshees 24/7, and Penelope, a colourful, flirty femme who is never seen with less than three pastel accessories and is constantly smiling.
Just as Emily finishes up her story, a familiar face comes into your view. A familiar, gorgeous face.
Spencer is walking by, satchel slung across his torso with the strap twisted, his hair dancing in the breeze. You swallow nervously, instinctively smoothing out your skirt. Tara's eyes flicker to you; she flashes a mischievous grin before calling out to Spencer.
"Hey, Reid," she says. Is Reid a nickname? His last name, maybe?
"Hi, Tara," he responds with a shy wave and the cutest smile you've ever seen. Your stomach is full of butterflies, and just when you think you can't be any more flustered, Spencer turns to look over at you. "Hi, Y/n."
Immediately, you feel like you might explode. The way your voice sounds on his tongue is perfect, so smooth and soft, spoken in the gentlest tone. You hadn't expected him to greet you, but it's a pleasant surprise — one you will probably gush about to Tara later.
"Hi," you squeak out, feeling your cheeks heat up as he looks at you. You feel Emily and Penelope's curious stares pinpointed on you, but you refuse to look over at them. They definitely know something is up, and you don't want to talk about it, especially not while he is right there. You would just end up stumbling over your words as you tried to explain, embarrassing yourself in the process. There is no real way to explain what you feel, not right now.
"You wanna join us?" Tara asks. Her tone is casual, but you know she's doing it to tease you. The thought of actually hanging out with Spencer, albeit with your friends around, makes your heart race. You're not sure if you want him to say yes or no.
But your heart sinks a little at his response. "I, uh, I can't, sorry," Spencer replies. "See you later."
He does not give a reason for being unable to hang out — not that he needs a reason, of course — and pushes his hair out of his face as he walks away. Your eyes linger on him a little too long, but you quickly avert your gaze when he glances back at your group. As soon as he's out of earshot, Penelope can no longer suppress her excited giggle.
"I think you have a crush," she chimes happily.
"I do not," you quickly deny. And it's true, sort of. You don't have a crush on him — not yet, at least — you are just intrigued by him. By the way he fiddles with his pen when he is done writing and is waiting for the professor to continue. By the way he only researches via textbooks; you have never seen him opt to use a computer. By the way he carries himself, his hairstyles and his choice of clothes. It's not a crush, it's more of a fascination. An infatuation.
But, of course, Penelope isn't a mind-reader. She doesn't know all of this. The only person who you have told any of this to is Tara, and she's sworn to secrecy (you have only given her permission to tell any of this to is Rebecca, her girlfriend, but as far as you are aware, Tara hasn't even told her anything).
"Are you sure?" Emily probes, her voice teasing. "That crack in your voice when you said hi to him... I'm not convinced."
"I don't have a crush on him," you reiterate.
Penelope shifts on the wall, turning to Tara. "You'd know, Tara. Does she like him?"
Suppressing a smile, Tara raises her hands. "I can neither confirm nor deny," she answers. You roll your eyes. "What I can say is that she doesn't shut up about him."
"Tara!" you exclaim, slapping her arm lightly. "I hate you."
Your reaction earns a laugh from Emily as she shakes her head at you. You hadn't heard her approach, but now Rebecca is right behind you, letting out a chuckle. "What were you saying to my girlfriend?" she teases.
Tara extends an arm to her, and they share a sickly sweet kiss, murmuring hellos. An annoyed huff leaves your lips; you stand up from the bench and sling your bag over your shoulder.
"I can't stand to be around couples anymore."
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Stupid, you think to yourself.
It's late into the night, the time when all your past regrets and embarrassments weasel their way into your brain to torment you as you try to fall asleep. Tonight's star: being too scared to talk to Spencer.
Eyes squeezed shut and hands curled into the duvet, your mind replays all the times you could have spoken to him but were too anxious to actually do it. You could've sat next to him in a lecture and started a conversation. You could've talked to him about a book he was reading in the library. You could've spoken to him about an assignment from your shared class. You could've done all of these things, and yet you didn't. Because you were scared. But what were you scared of? That he wouldn't want to talk to you? That he would think you're weird? That he would turn around and tell you to fuck off?
Everything that you have learned about him tells you he would not do any of that, but you're still too anxious to say more than a few words to him. You feel pathetic, a familiar sense of self-hatred crawling up your spine to wrap around your neck and choke you. It's suffocating and overwhelming; you want to cry, but that would just make you feel even more pathetic.
After what seems like hours of tossing and turning, debating and regretting, you finally manage to drift off into a less than comfortable sleep. Your dreams are strange — messes of swirled colours and things that seemingly make no sense. Your teeth are falling out as you are forced to follow a pure white owl through a dark forest. You're at a party, in class, your friends drifting in and out of the dreams. You can't make sense of them, too much happening at any given moment to know what is going on.
The sun is creeping up the horizon when your alarm goes off, waking you from a dream where you are playing with a dog that has no face. You groan, burying your face into the pillows as you turn off the alarm and quickly pull your hand back under the covers to protect yourself from the cold.
"Rise and shine." Tara's voice is muffled through your duvet, but you can still hear her loud and clear.
You give an annoyed grunt in response. You just know she's rolling her eyes.
"Get up," she insists, nudging you.
"It's cold," you mumble.
Laughing, Tara grips your duvet and yanks it off of you. "It's not cold."
"Hey!" you exclaim, scrambling to grab it back from her, but she holds it out of your reach. "I'm tiiiired."
"Quit complaining and get up!" she giggles, dumping the duvet at the bottom of your bed. When you stick your tongue out at her, she scoffs and shakes her head, a tiny smirk on her lips. "You're so childish."
With another frustrated grumble, you finally relent, sitting up as you wrap your arms around yourself. You can admit, you'd been dramatic about the cold. Sure, it is a little chilly, but that's to be expected for an October day in Massachusetts.
It's early; the sky tinted pink and orange as the sun rises. You find yourself gazing out the window for a few moments, lost in your thoughts, before you snap back to reality and slip out of bed.
Getting ready is almost a chore at this point. It's annoying trying to find an outfit each day that fits all the requirements: weather appropriate, cohesive, and cute. But luckily, today, you find yourself knowing just what to wear. Maybe it's because you have a class with Spencer today, or maybe you just like the colour, who knows, but you find yourself reaching for one of your fancier tops that you rarely wear. It's a soft pink babydoll, lacy at the top, and long-sleeved. It isn't too thick — so you won't overheat — but it's nice and cosy. You pair it with a plaid brown skirt, black tights, brown boots, and a cream cardigan.
"You're looking cute," Tara teases, stepping into the bathroom as you're doing your make-up. "Are you trying to impress a certain someone?"
The comment distracts you, and you end up poking yourself in the eye with your mascara wand. "Ow!" you exclaim, eyes watering as you squint and blink repeatedly.
Your roommate cracks up, her laughter echoing through the dorm as she doubles over. "Jesus," she manages to pant between giggles, "I didn't expect... that to... fluster you so much."
She is still laughing as you glare at her, dabbing at your watery eye. "Shut up," you snap light-heartedly. "I'm not flustered."
Finally composing herself, Tara takes a deep breath, her smile still tugging at her lips. "Right. Definitely." She nudges you to the side of the sink. "Budge, I need to brush my teeth."
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You decide to sit in the same row as him today. Spencer is already settled when you arrive to your lecture — a cognitive sciences class, which is your minor — so you make the choice to sit in the same row as him. He glances over at you as you take a seat, giving you a soft smile that has your heart doing backflips. Returning the smile, you nervously smooth out your skirt before turning your attention to your professor.
The class drags on for what seems like days; you can't focus on what is being discussed, and you know you'll end up falling behind. You're practically half-asleep when the lecture finally ends, and you blink yourself back to life. Ignoring the annoyed look you are receiving from the professor, you pack away your things and stand up. Your feet are numb and you feel like you might fall down the stairs.
Surprisingly, you manage to make it to the door without tripping over. As you're following the rest of the class out, someone clears their throat behind you. Turning around, you find yourself face to face with Spencer.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you reply, a little dumbfounded.
"I, uh, I like your shirt," he comments. You look down, as if you'd forgotten what top you are wearing, but of course you haven't. "It looks really nice on you."
You feel warmth crawling up your neck as you stare at him for a moment. "Thank you," you respond, wracking your brain for something to say to keep the conversation going. "I like your socks."
The sentence is out before you can think. You'd seen his socks peek out from beneath his trousers when you were secretly admiring him during the lecture (the flash of pink beneath his black slacks had caught you off guard, before you noticed they weren't even a pair), and of course, stupidly, that is what you decide to mention. Your face gets even hotter.
Spencer laughs, and it is such a beautiful sound, accompanied by such a beautiful smile. I need to make him laugh more, you think, fidgeting with your sleeve. How can I make him laugh more?
"Thanks," he chuckles softly with a shake of his head. "I haven't, uh, worn matching socks since I was about five. My grandmother told me it's good luck to wear two different ones."
"That's really cute," you reply. You can feel your pulse pounding in your neck as blood rushes to your face. "It's unique."
"Yeah, I guess it is."
Just as you're about to say something else, lips parted and a word hanging off your tongue, you are very rudely interrupted by your professor. "You two lovebirds, shoo. I have another lecture in here in five minutes," he sighs in a half light-hearted manner, running a hand through his grey hair.
"Sorry," you and Spencer both mumble as you hurry out of the lecture hall, your skin burning with embarrassment.
Once the door is shut, you can't help but let out a little laugh. "I think he hates me," you say, adjusting your bag strap.
Spencer smiles and shakes his head. "He's just grumpy."
"Like always," you giggle.
"Yeah," he laughs, fiddling with the buttons on his beige shirt.
Your gaze fixes on his hands for a moment as he fidgets. His fingers, long and deft, twist the buttons around as he breathes a soft sigh. Eyes flickering back up to his face, you give him a shy smile. "Hey, um... do you happen to have the notes for that lecture? I kinda zoned out the whole time."
He chuckles softly again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "I, uh, I noticed," he says with an almost teasing tone in his voice. "Yes, of course, you can borrow my notes."
You can't help but smile, biting the inside of your cheek slightly. "Thank you. Do you have free time now?"
"I don't, sorry," Spencer responds, sounding genuinely sad about it. "But I can text you later to arrange a time, or just send you the notes."
"Oh, yeah, of course," you reply, the thought of him having your number making you slightly dizzy. You're too focused on that idea for a moment that you almost forget to actually give him your number. "Oh! I'll have to... put my number in your phone for that."
He lets out a laugh and ducks his head, his smile showing off his perfect teeth. Oh, how you want to feel those teeth grazing your skin.
"Yes, you will." He passes you his phone, and you type in your number and name before handing it back. The brush of his fingers against yours sends sparks up your arm and into your chest, electrifying your heart to pound even faster. "Thanks. I'll, uh, text you later."
"Okay, cool," you say. "See you, Spencer."
"Bye," he says with a cute little wave, heading off down the corridor.
You can't help but watch him for a few moments, before you breathe out a sigh and turn to head the other way. As you do, you fish your phone out of your pocket to text Tara, knowing she is not in a lecture right now.
YOU: Ohghjkg my god guess what
TARA: Omg what
YOU: I spoke to Spencer😭😭😭 He has my number😭😭😭
YOU: I think I blacked out for most of the coversation
TARA: NO WAY
TARA: You finally did it
TARA: I'm so proud
TARA: How did it go ???? What happened ????
YOU: Ok basically
YOU: He said he liked my top and then I said I liked his socks and he laughed and Omghjdhf his laugh is so cute and then I asked to borrow his notes from the class and he said yes but he couldn't right now so he would text me so I gave him my number AAAHHHH
TARA: Awww cuties
YOU: He's so nice
TARA: I told you he was!!!
YOU: Ok shhhhhh
YOU: Where are u so I can come
TARA: Upstairs in the library with JJ
YOU: Ok I'm on my way 😋
You make your way to the library, giddy and excited. Practically bouncing on your feet, you hurry upstairs to look for your friends. Once you spot them, you head over and sit down beside JJ.
"Hi, guys," you say, dropping your bag onto the floor by your feet.
"Hey," JJ replies with a smile.
You've known JJ for only a few months, but she is one of the sweetest people you've ever met. She's also a femme lesbian, and you have a lot of fun with her. Although you're very different from each other — she is sporty and studies communications, while you study sciences and are into art — you enjoy her presence. Her girlfriend Elle, however, another femme, shares some of your interests, and you've been getting pretty close over the past few weeks.
That is what the two had been talking about when you'd arrived. Tara and JJ had been discussing the idea of a double date, or a triple date with Emily and Penelope, too. It's cute, really, that your friends are all in such happy and healthy relationships, but an ugly, jealous feeling brews in your stomach. You hadn't dated anyone in so long, and even your most recent relationship was awful and you were unhappy.
"Maybe you and Spencer can come along, too. Quadruple date," Tara suggests, grinning.
You bury your face in your hands, embarrassed. "Shut up," you mumble, but you can't hold back your smile.
"Who's Spencer?" asks JJ, a lightly teasing tone in her voice.
"Nobody," you answer, lifting your head. "Well, maybe not nobody."
With a curiously raised eyebrow, JJ glances over at Tara, who just shrugs and smiles, folding her hands on the table.
"So...?" the blonde prompts.
"Well, um," you start, struggling to find the words. "I guess he's just someone I might have a teensy little thing for..."
Tara laughs, clapping her hands twice. "So you finally admit it."
"Okay, shush," you reply, your face getting warm for what must be the hundredth time today. "Nothing's going to happen with it."
"What's he like?" JJ inquires with a tilt of her head.
"Smart," you answer, ducking your head nervously. "And sweet. He dresses like an old man, kinda. It's cute. And he's shy... he seemed nervous when we talked."
Your friend smiles, twisting her golden hair around her finger as she gazes at you with a cheeky glint in her eye. "Maybe he likes you."
"Right," Tara agrees. "Just ask him out."
"What!?" you squeak. "No!"
"Why not?" she asks.
You frown, dropping your gaze to your lap, where you fidget with the hem of your skirt. Shrugging, you mutter, "It's scary. He'll say no. And... and I don't even know him yet. I can't just ask out someone I don't know."
"Dating him would be a chance to get to know him," JJ mentions, resting her arms on the table.
"I know," you sigh, looking back up at your friends. "I just don't want to... not yet, at least. Okay?"
"Okay," they both say.
"We don't mean to pressure you, hon," JJ says gently. "But I think it'd be good for you to be in a happy relationship."
"And what if it ends up like my last relationship?" you counter. "What if it all goes to shit again?"
"Trust me," Tara responds, "Spencer is nice. He doesn't have one cruel bone in his body. He would never treat someone badly."
You trace imaginary shapes onto the table with your fingertip. "Well, yeah... I just need to be friends with him first. To build trust and learn stuff about him."
"That's smart."
"But, you know, to be friends with him, you actually have to talk to him," Tara teases. "And about stuff other than cognitive sciences."
Her comment manages to bring a smile to your face, a soft laugh slipping out. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Don't worry, I'm sure he'd love to talk with you and hang out with you."
You let out a groan, hiding your face in your hands as JJ and Tara giggle.
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