i love you, spencer reid, in every universe. i will keep rewriting the stars until there is a version of you somewhere who gets all the happiness you deserve!!!
i will write so many spencer au(s) that eventually he will exist in every universe, timeline and possible reality. mischaracterization? lord forgive me, i’m simply expanding the spencer multiverse
The bathroom smelled faintly of shampoo and warm steam, the mirror already fogging at the corners where Spencer had leaned too close earlier, trying to follow the tutorial without missing a single hand movement. His daughter sat cross-legged on the closed toilet seat now, swinging her feet slowly as she watched him gather the sections of hair again with careful patience, the pink brush resting forgotten beside the sink like a retired instrument from a failed experiment.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she said, voice light but observant, as he paused with three uneven strands separated between his fingers.
Spencer blinked, glancing at her reflection instead of the braid itself. “What thing,” he asked, adjusting his grip slightly so the tension evened out before continuing.
“That thinking face,” she replied, leaning forward just enough that he had to gently tap her shoulder with the back of his hand to keep her from shifting too much. “Like you’re about to solve a math problem instead of doing hair.”
His mouth twitched as he looked back down at what he was doing. “I think the tutorial underestimated how many variables are involved,” he murmured, carefully crossing one section over another while trying not to pull too tightly. “Hair texture, hand positioning, timing, symmetry–”
“You’re listing things again,” she interrupted, laughing softly as she reached up to touch the braid forming near the top of her head.
“I’m just being accurate,” he said, though the words softened when she gave him a look through the mirror that suggested accuracy was not the point of the morning.
Her legs kicked lightly against the cabinet below. “Sofia said her mom does this in like, two minutes.”
Spencer’s hands slowed for half a second before he adjusted the strand he was holding, ensuring it didn’t loosen. “That’s very impressive,” he replied carefully, though his tone carried the faintest trace of disbelief he tried to hide.
“It is,” she insisted, then tilted her head slightly as if reconsidering. “But I told her my dad watches videos.”
That made him glance up again. “You told her that?”
“Mm-hm,” she said with a small shrug, entirely unbothered. “I told her you paused the video a lot because the lady’s hands were too fast and she said that sounded like something her brother would do.”
Spencer let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if it had fully formed. “Was that meant to be reassuring?”
“I think so,” she said, then reached out to gently hold his wrist for a moment as he continued the braid, steadying his hand more than his work needed it. “You’re getting better though.”
“I am?”
“You don’t stop as much now.”
He looked at her through the mirror, briefly caught off guard by the casual certainty in her voice, before continuing the braid with slightly more confidence than before. “I suppose repetition does help,” he said, though the admission sounded more like an observation than pride.
“It’s not just that,” she replied, watching closely as he added another section. “You’re careful. The lady on the video isn’t careful. She just knows already.”
Spencer tied off the end with a small elastic, letting the braid settle against her back before reaching for the daisy clip. He slid it into place near her ear, adjusting it until it sat just right, then stepped back slightly to evaluate his work.
There were uneven sections where his fingers had hesitated, a place near the middle where the tension wasn’t perfectly consistent and one strand that refused to behave no matter how gently he tried to guide it earlier. Still, the braid held together, soft and slightly imperfect in a way the tutorial had never mentioned.
His daughter leaned forward to study it in the mirror, then turned around abruptly and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shirt.
“It looks like you did it,” she said simply, as though that was the highest possible praise.
Spencer hesitated for a second before resting his hand lightly on her head, careful not to disturb the braid. “I think that might be the nicest possible standard,” he answered quietly, and when she smiled against him, he didn’t try to correct it.
you and me... potentially? (Spencer reid x fem!reader)
Summary: you've been keeping your massive crush on spencer reid a secret, that is until you go to the movies with him and realise he might just feel the same way about you.
CW: fluff, basically shy!reader, fem!reader, she overthinks a lot, has low self esteem. mentions of Project Hail Mary but no major spoilers, but lots of references to Grace's science pun t-shirts lol.
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: yay finally!! I had so much fun writing this, inspired by a conversation with my lovely moot @mango-lovrr and our headcanon that spencer reid would absolutely wear science pun t-shirts.
The man sitting at the desk adjoining yours - Doctor Spencer Reid.
You were also kind of hoping no one noticed - the way your cheeks reddened and smile broadened - when you both talked. About the most mundane things, too. The weather, what you ate for dinner, anything for goodness sake.
Basically, you kind of had a massive, raging crush on Spencer, and you could only pray no one noticed. Including him. Especially him.
Because you really weren't the type of person to go shouting about it, or confide in anyone the way most people do in, for example, 2000’s romcoms. You were a girl who did not confront, because you knew there was always someone better out there, much prettier than you, who Spencer probably deserved more. Because he was gorgeous - and way, way out of your league.
Plus, you had an idea of his type, what with the case in LA a few years earlier and a gorgeous blonde by the name of Lila Archer, whom Spencer made out with. In a pool. Psyching yourself out was something you did a lot, really. The slight burn in your chest, sparkling with a twinge of hope while simultaneously decaying your self esteem.
Penelope had invited you to countless girls nights at O'Keefe's, urging you to pick up a man. “Have a little fun, show off some of your charm!” she’d exclaim, while you knew that you were more of a spluttering and stuttering sort of charmer. Awkwardness no one seemed to desire in a woman, but yearned for in a man.
Which was greatly ironic, considering the circumstances: the dimple adorned, wispy haired, soft clothed agent sitting opposite you, somehow emitting a warmth under the unforgiving and oppressive fluorescent lights of the bullpen.
“Hey, you okay?” Spencer questioned concernedly, craning his neck over the desk divider to peek at you as his eyebrows raised.
“Um…uh-huh” you replied unconvincingly, cheeks burning at the thought of being caught staring.
Spencer nodded, soft curls unfurling from behind his ear as he returned his attention to the case file on his desk. Part of you wished you could reach right over, tuck the hair back in place again.
Your stomach pulled at the wanting that you were so unfamiliar with, it seemed to come out of nowhere.
***
The clock struck five.
You’re not usually the type of employee to immediately stop working when it’s time to leave, simply because absolutely no one else is, and you’d rather not appear like you're eager to go, what with the serious nature of your job and all.
So you hang on a few minutes. Usually until Spencer starts packing his things. Not in a creepy way.
He stands, pulling his coat on and slinging his worn messenger bag over his shoulder, before looking at you.
“Have you seen that new sci-fi movie yet? Project Hail Mary?” he enquired politely.
You and Spencer shared a love for film - especially the sci-fi genre - and regularly discussed new releases. This is what made your wanting so consuming. You shared so many similar interests, the discussions serving as a reprieve from your gruelling job.
You considered his pretty simple question carefully, not because it was particularly mentally challenging, but so that your mouth could catch up with your brain and form a coherent response.
“I haven't actually, but I've been wanting to. I’ve heard good things about it!”
“Me too! I've been anticipating its release for a while, actually. It was originally a book by Andy Weir, who's the author of The Martian - a book that’s also been adapted into a movie. I really recommend reading them too, surprisingly I found the movies just as enjoyable - which, you know, isn't always the case. Also, Project Hail Mary’s portrayal of astrophysics, relativity and spacecraft engineering is highly accurate, so that’s good.”
A pause.
“Would you… like to watch it with me? It's showing this evening at the local movie theatre, not far from my apartment. I could, um, drive us and then… drive you home?”
Heart fluttering stupidly in your chest, you said: “I would love to!”
Not bad. No stuttering, at least.
Spencer waited patiently as you gathered your belongings, before following him towards the elevators, oblivious to the fact that your discussion had attracted a little audience across the bullpen.
“How long has it been? Three years now?” queried Emily.
“What, since he’s been looking at her like she hung the moon?” JJ joined.
“Nah, more like she’s been looking at him like that.” corrected Derek.
“Whatever, can they just- ugh - do something about it already!” exclaimed Emily, losing patience.
***
“You totally cried!” you exclaimed while grinning brightly under the darkened sky. You always loved exiting a movie theatre after the sun had gone down. It was like entering a new world.
The sidewalk was wet with fresh rain, petrichor pungent in the air. You walked side by side with Spencer, a newfound electric energy between you as you excitedly discussed the movie.
“I did not…cry,” Spencer said so unconvincingly it caused a chuckle to bubble from your chest, “I… teared up. But so did you! I did see you reaching for the tissues in your pocket, you know.”
“Well, I really thought Rocky was…” you started.
“I know, I know, me too. But he wasn't! The end was incredibly… heartwarming.”
“Yes, it was.” you agreed, peering at him as you stopped once you reached his car. “Are you sure you’re okay to drop me home? I really don’t want to be a bother, the metro journey isn't too bad-”
“Please, I insist,” he earnestly said, cutting you off while opening the passenger door for you.
You peered into his eyes, impossibly dark, and you could have sworn they glistened like stars under the night sky. He looked so earnest as he stood there. Before you could be accused of outright staring, you thanked him before getting into his car. Of course, being the gentleman that he is, he closed the door for you too. Which could mean nothing.
***
Everything looked blotchy as the raindrops on the windows blurred everyone's car lights together, a warm toned distortion against the navy sky. With the heater on (since Spencer noticed you shivering) you felt incredibly cozy, the rhythmic sound of the indicator almost drifting you to sleep.
It was quiet in a way that confirmed two people were comfortable enough in each other's presence to not force words, and the silence continued for a good ten minutes before Spencer spoke.
“I liked his t-shirts.”
“Hm?”
“Grace’s t-shirts. The science puns. You know… ‘I Had Potential’” Spencer chuckled.
“Oh yeah!” you realised, “they were pretty fantastic, weren't they?”
“Definitely” he agreed.
Eventually, Spencer halted the car outside of your apartment complex.
“...Thank you. Not just for dropping me off, but for this evening too. I really enjoyed the film,” you psyched yourself up for your next words, “...and spending time with you.”
Spencer let out a breath, shifting in his seat to look at you more directly. “I enjoy spending time with you, too. Well um, you know, they’re probably going to be more movies. That we both enjoy. To, um, watch together.” he stuttered.
Your heart wouldn't stop doing that stupid jumpy thing as you undid your seatbelt, the pure warmth of your face becoming unbearable.
“Yes. For sure” you nodded.
“Wait, let me-” he said, swiftly getting out of the car and walking around to your side, opening the car door for you.
You could barely keep it together as you exited his car, stuttering a goodbye as he waved, supposedly waiting until you were safely in your building before driving away.
***
It had been about a week since you attended the movie theatre with Spencer.
Fluorescent lights, rhythmic typing, and the smell of coffee. The usual for a monday morning inside the BAU.
You were early that morning - thankfully - as you beelined to Spencer’s vacant desk. You hoped no one saw as you planted a gift bag next to his keyboard. You picked a bag that looked the most unassuming, a plain dark blue. Successfully, the bullpen was empty enough to not attract wandering eyes to your activities.
Or so you thought.
“Pretty girl, whatcha got there? Is it pretty boy’s birthday or something?”
Derek.
“Um. No… It’s just something. For him. That I thought he’d like.”
Way to play it cool.
“I see, I see,” he acknowledged with the most shit eating grin on his face, “you’re all sweet on him, aren't you?”
“What! I simply-”
“He’s all sweet on you too, you know that right? The way he looks at you? It’s driving Emily insane, how oblivious you both are.”
“I really don’t think he-” you began, before Derek cut you off again.
“Look… I understand you’re both not the type for a big fuss, so I'll leave this here: say something, do something.” Derek spoke with such understanding that, surprisingly, the shock of feeling seen didn't really feel like shock at all. It felt like relief.
“This is me doing something.” you motioned towards the bag with your head.
Derek nodded, satisfied, and walked away.
***
About half an hour later, Spencer walked through the bullpen doors.
Once at his desk, he eyed the blue gift bag curiously. Your best effort to appear unassuming included pretending to be absolutely absorbed in the case file open on your desk, when in reality, you were hyperaware of his movements, watching them from the corner of your eye.
He opened the bag, pulling out the first bundle of fabric and unfolding it curiously. You then heard a surprised laugh.
“Was this you?” he asked with such delight, holding up a t-shirt with the words ‘I had potential’ on it, as well a potential energy graph.
You couldn't help but laugh, too, at his joy.
“I just had to! It being a science pun and all, they reminded me of you.”
Spencer rummaged further into the bag, pulling out another t-shirt, this time one with a periodic table printed on it, with the phrase ‘I wear this shirt periodically’ beneath it.
His laughter increased, while you grinned sheepishly at him.
“I love them. Thank you.” he spoke earnestly. His face softened, looking at you with such…longing?
“I’m glad you didn't think it was weird or anything.” you mumbled pathetically.
Spencer took a seat at his desk, carefully folding the shirts back up and gently placing them back into the bag. “You’re kidding right? This is one of the best gifts I've ever received.”
Again, a familiar moment of silent reflection, until:
“Ive never met anyone who's understood me so well,” he began with a serious expression, “I know I'm not for everyone, some people make that explicitly clear, but with you,” he gazes, “I feel like I can be myself.”
He places those words between you like they’re fragile, vulnerable.
“Me too,” you reassure him, "it's always so easy with you.”
You take a breath.
“Would you like to make our next trip to the movie theatre… a date? We could get dinner afterwards. If you want.”
Spencer’s mouth opens in what you could only call amused disbelief, “you know, that’s funny. I was about to ask the same thing. A date.”
That’s it. You’re dead.
“I guess it’s settled then,” you confirm.
“I guess it is.”
You can’t help the upturn of your mouth, which he reciprocates, before you both try so hard to begin your work for the day.
Derek catches your eyes from across the room. He winks. You smile.
The bicycle chain gave a familiar click as Spencer shifted gears, carrying him onto the long stretch of road that led toward school. The neighborhood hadn’t fully woken yet. A sprinkler ticked steadily behind a white picket fence, throwing glittering droplets into the pale morning light, while a pair of mockingbirds argued somewhere high in an oak tree he passed every weekday. The only other sound was the soft hum of his tires rolling over the pavement, steady enough that after a while it blended into the background with the wind brushing against his ears.
He’d tried bringing books with him once.
Not while riding, obviously. They stayed tucked safely inside his backpack, waiting for traffic lights or particularly long railroad crossings. It had lasted less than a week before he realized he didn’t actually want to read during the ride. Reading filled every other part of his day. Someone always had another chapter for him, another article, another theorem, another expectation disguised as an opportunity. Out here, with both hands wrapped around worn rubber handlebars and cool air slipping beneath the sleeves of his jacket, he found he preferred not thinking much at all.
That surprised him.
His mind rarely stopped moving. It catalogued things automatically: the number of houses with porch lights still on, the pattern the sprinklers followed from one yard to the next, the exact second the traffic signal ahead would change based on how many cars had already crossed the intersection. Normally the observations crowded one another until they became exhausting. On the bicycle, they simply…existed. He noticed them the way someone might notice clouds drifting overhead, interesting enough to watch without feeling compelled to chase every thought to its conclusion.
The traffic light turned yellow just as he reached it.
He squeezed the brakes, slowing to an easy stop beside the crosswalk and another cyclist coasted in a second later, breathing hard enough to suggest he’d been trying to beat the light.
“Thought I had it,” the boy said with a laugh, leaning both forearms across his handlebars as the red signal blinked overhead. “Guess the universe had other plans.”
Spencer glanced from the countdown timer to the line of cars passing through the intersection.
“You would’ve needed another four seconds.”
The boy looked sideways at him, amused.
“You counted?”
“I looked.”
“That’s…somehow weirder.”
Spencer lowered his eyes, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m kidding,” the boy added quickly, smiling before Spencer could apologize. “I wish I noticed stuff like that. I just pedal and hope for the best.”
Spencer considered telling him that statistically speaking, hope wasn’t a particularly reliable strategy in traffic. Instead he smiled–small, uncertain, but genuine.
“I think your method looks less stressful.”
The boy laughed again, a bright, easy sound that carried over the idling engines.
“There you go. That’s the healthiest thing anyone’s said to me before eight in the morning.”
The pedestrian signal flashed green.
As they crossed together, the boy jerked his chin toward Spencer’s backpack.
“You go to Coronado too?”
“I do.”
“I’m Sam.”
“Spencer.”
“Cool.” Sam lifted one hand from the handlebars in an effortless wave before turning down another street. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Spencer watched him disappear between rows of parked cars until he was little more than another student hurrying toward school.
Only then did he realize how relaxed his shoulders felt.
He hadn’t been trying to impress anyone. He hadn’t stumbled into another conversation about skipped grades or college classes or whether he really belonged in the same building as everyone else. For two intersections and one traffic light, he’d simply talked about nothing in particular with another teenager on a bicycle and the ordinary nature of it settled warmly somewhere beneath his ribs.
It wasn’t a remarkable morning.
That, Spencer thought as he pushed down on the pedals again, was exactly what made it worth remembering.
For a very long time, you firmly believed that the idea of "time healing all wounds" was nothing more than a cheap, manufactured comfort. It was something people printed on greeting cards, or whispered at the end of a devastating breakup when they simply didn't know what else to say. You had spent years carrying the heavy, cynical belief that love was exhausting gamble, a game where someone always ended up losing.
To you, the clichés you saw in romantic comedies -the grand gestures, the undeniable spark, the person who felt like home- were just that: pure fiction.
But then, Spencer Reid happened.
He didn't just walk into your life; he quietly and patiently dismantled every single wall you had spent years building around your heart. He didn't push. He just stayed. And suddenly, all those overused, cheesy phrases you used to roll your eyes at didn't seem so commonplace anymore. Because looking at him, waking up next to him, and existing in his orbit, you finally understood them. Time really did heal the worst of wounds, but only because time eventually led you right to him.
It was right around seven in the evening on a warm Friday night. The golden hour sun was streaming through the large windows of a crowded Italian restaurant, painting the room in a hazy, cinematic glow. You were sitting in a curved leather booth with your closest girlfriends, the table a chaotic, beautiful mess of half-eaten pasta dishes, shred garlic bread, and the bright, sticky-sweet tangerine hue of your Aperol Spritzes.
The ambient noise of clicking glasses and chatter was loud, but not quite as loud as your best friend, Jade.
Jade was currently leaning entirely over the table, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that commanded the attention of the entire booth. She swirled the bright orange liquid in her glass, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"I am telling you, I saw the texts myself", Jade said, pausing for dramatic effect as the rest of the girls leaned in closer. "She actually did it. She hooked up with Indie's boyfriend".
A collective gasp echoed around the table. You nearly choked on your drink, setting the condensation-covered glass down with a thud. "Wait, wait, wait" you interrupted, holding up a hand. "Are you talking about Sarah? Our Sarah? The one who went on the cabin trip with us last summer?"
"The very same," Jade confirmed grimly. "Indie had been suspecting something was off for weeks. She opened his iPad to check and email and his messages were synced. Sarah had been going over to his place on the nights Indie had her late shifts at the hospital".
"That is literally vile," another friend muttered, shaking her head. "She was supposed to be our friend. She sat in Indie's living room and drank her wine while sleeping with her boyfriend".
As the girls erupted into a chorus of outrage, dissecting the betrayal and planning exactly how they were going to support Indie, you took a slow sip of your Aperol Spritz. A profound, heavy wave of sympathy washed over you. You knew exactly how that kind of betrayal felt -the earth-shattering realization that the ground you were standing on was entirely built on lies.
But beneath the sympathy, buried deep in your chest, was a quiet, secret relief. A profound gratitude that you no longer had to navigate the terrifying, chaotic minefield of modern dating.
You turned your head, glancing out the large front window of the restaurant, and there he was.
Spencer was standing put on the sidewalk. He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of the slacks, his familiar leather satchel slung across his chest, and his soft hair pushed ack by the evening breeze. he wasn't checking his watch. He wasn't rushing you. He was just waiting, peering through the glass until his eyes finally found yours.
When they did a familiar face transformed. He offered a small, crooked smile and a little wave.
Your heart did a familiar, involuntary flip. Looking at him standing there, so steady, so incredibly loyal, it felt as though the universe, after years of letting you stumble in the dark, had finally thrown you the greatest lifeline it had to offer.
You quickly wrapped up the conversation, said your goodbyes, and pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the restaurant.
"You didn't have to walk all the way over here just to pick me up", you said, though the massive, glowing smile on your face completely betrayed your words.
2I wanted to", Spencer replied simply. He reached out, wrapping his long, warm fingers around yours."Besides, walking aids in digestion. And, more importantly, I missed you."
You laughed, your white sneakers hitting the pavement in perfect rhythm with his dress shoes as you seamlessly fell into step beside him.
The walk back to your shared apartment was your favorite part of the day. The streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, painting the sidewalk in patches of gold. And you absolutely could not keep the drama to yourself.
"Okay, you will not believe what Jade just told me," you began, swinging your joined hands slightly as you walked. "You remember Sarah, right? The brunette who came to my birthday dinner?"
Spencer nodded, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration as he accessed his mental files. "Yes. She wore a green sweater and talked extensively about her golden retriever."
"That's the one," you said. "Well, she just slept with Indie's boyfriend."
Spencer stopped walking for a fraction of a second. He blinked, looking down at you with genuine, unadulterated shock. "Wait, what?"
"I know!" you exclaimed, feeding off his reaction. "And it gets worse. She was going over to his apartment to do it. Indie's apartment. On the nights Indie was working the night shift at the hospital!"
Spencer’s jaw practically dropped. The brilliant, analytical mind of the FBI’s finest was momentarily short-circuited by the sheer audacity of your friend group's drama. "Wait... she was sleeping with him in Indie's own bed? While Indie was saving lives at a hospital?"
"Yes!"
Spencer shook his head, looking utterly bewildered as you resumed walking. "That's... structurally speaking, a terrible place to conduct an illicit affair because the probability of getting caught is exponentially higher. But morally? That's completely sociopathic."
You let out a loud laugh, leaning your shoulder heavily against his arm. "Exactly! I mean, who does that to a friend?"
"Someone with a severe lack of empathy and a hyper-inflated sense of entitlement," Spencer deduced, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. He looked at you, his hazel eyes softening. "I'm glad you're not friends with her anymore. You deserve better people in your orbit."
You looked up at him, watching the way the passing headlights illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw. A sudden, overwhelming wave of affection washed over you. God, I love the way you look at me, you thought, feeling a warm flush creep up your neck.
Instead of taking the main, brightly lit avenue, Spencer gently tugged your hand, leading you toward the entrance of the community park. It was a shortcut you rarely took at night because the paths were poorly lit, bordered by thick, looming oak trees that blocked out the city glow.
"It's pretty dark in there, Spence," you pointed out, your footsteps slowing down slightly.
"I know," he said softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "But I'm right here."
And it was the absolute truth. In the dark, wrapped in the quiet isolation of the park with his hand holding yours, you weren't scared. The shadows didn't feel menacing. You just had to reach out, and he was right there—a constant, immovable source of safety. He draped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side to shield you from the evening breeze, and pressed a soft kiss to your temple as you walked.
By the time you reached your apartment building, the buzzing, chaotic energy of the city had completely faded, replaced by the warm, sacred intimacy of your shared space.
You unlocked the door, kicked off your shoes, and collapsed onto the living room sofa with a contented sigh. You watched from the couch as Spencer moved around the room. He hung up his satchel, draped his cardigan over the back of a dining chair, and walked into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water.
You looked around the room. The books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. The blanket draped over the armrest that you shared every night. Everything in the room belonged to both of you. The realization that everything you owned just felt like ours made your chest ache with a profound, beautiful sense of belonging.
Spencer walked back into the living room, handing you a glass of water before sitting down next to you on the sofa. You immediately shifted, swinging your legs over his lap and resting your head heavily against his shoulder. He wrapped his long arms around you without hesitation, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, letting out a long, grounded sigh.
The silence that settled over you wasn't empty; it was rich and heavy with thousands of unsaid words.
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his shirt. Sometimes, the sheer magnitude of what you felt for him was too terrifying to voice aloud. It was too hard to describe the depth of your love in a way that felt entirely honest and sufficient. Words always seemed to fall short of capturing how he had saved you from your own cynicism.
But as you lay there in the quiet, you knew he understood. Even when you were completely silent, the way you held onto him, the way you fit perfectly into his side, was a promise.
You tilted your head up, looking at his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even. He looked so peaceful, so stunningly beautiful in the dim, golden light of the living room lamps.
A sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability pierced your chest. To love someone this much was to give them the absolute power to destroy you. If he ever left, he would take all the light in the world with him.
You traced the line of his jaw with your eyes, committing every freckle, every shadow, and every curve to memory. He was the only person you ever wanted to look at for the rest of your days. A face, you swore to yourself in the absolute quiet of the room, that you could spend your entire life knowing and still never get tired of.
You tightened your grip on his shirt, burying your face in the warm crook of his neck, breathing in his scent of old paper and coffee.
I hope I never see what your face looks like going, the thought so fierce and desperate it brought tears to your eyes. Please, let me never see him walk away.
Spencer stirred slightly, sensing the microscopic shift in your emotions. He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't need to. He just tightened his arms securely around you, pulling you impossibly closer, and pressed a lingering, devoted kiss to your temple.
And as the night deepened around you, safe in the arms of the man who had walked you home, you closed your eyes and drank in the quiet magic of the life you had built together. Here was to hoping it would last forever.
summary: Spencer Reid spends six months flirting. You spend six months not realizing he's flirting. The BAU spends six months losing money in Rossi's betting pool.
word count: ~2.5k
authors note: should I be sleeping? yes. will i be late for work tomorrow? yes. do I care? Not really.
just light rom com spencer x reader. not proof read.
masterlist
~♡~
The thing about Spencer Reid was that he was terrible at being subtle, at least according to everyone else.
You, unfortunately, were completely immune to recognizing romantic interest when it was directed at you.
Which was why, six months after joining the BAU, you still hadn't figured out that Spencer was hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you.
The betting pool started because of a Tuesday.
Not a dramatic or life-changing Tuesday.
Just an ordinary Tuesday when you mentioned, in passing, that you hadn't slept well.
That was it. One sentence.
The next morning there was coffee waiting on your desk.
The morning after that there was coffee again.
And the morning after that.
Three weeks later Spencer was still showing up with coffee, exactly how you liked it.
No one mentioned it. At least not to either of you.
But Rossi quietly slid twenty dollars toward Emily. Emily accepted it without question. Across the room Luke raised an eyebrow. Garcia looked delighted.
Spencer remained completely unaware. You remained completely unaware. Everyone else was suffering.
The thing about Spencer was that he remembered everything. Most people found that impressive, however you found it comforting. You could mention something once and Spencer would remember it months later.
A favorite author.
A movie you loved as a kid.
A food allergy.
A random story from college.
It all stayed somewhere inside his mind. One afternoon you were searching your desk.
Spencer looked up from a file.
"What are you looking for?"
"My charger."
"It's in conference room B."
You blinked.
"What?"
"You left it there after the briefing."
"How do you know that?"
"You forgot it."
"As opposed to?"
"You forgetting it somewhere else."
You laughed, what made Spencer smile. The room collectively watched. Then looked away before either of you noticed.
A month later the team was flying home from a case. You fell asleep halfway through the flight. Nothing unusual.
The unusual part happened afterward, when the jet landed. You woke up covered with Spencer's suit jacket. Garcia nearly bit through her lip trying not to smile. Luke immediately looked toward Rossi. Rossi silently updated the betting pool.
You simply handed the jacket back.
"Thanks."
Spencer looked almost embarrassed.
"Of course."
Like covering you with his jacket was the most natural thing in the world. Which, to him, it was.
The problem wasn't that Spencer was subtle.
The problem was that he treated you differently in a hundred tiny ways, that only became obvious when people paid attention.
He always sat beside you during briefings, partnered with you when possible, saved you a seat on the jet, noticed when you were tired or stressed, or hungry, or upset.
The rest of the team noticed.
You didn't.
One afternoon Emily walked into the bullpen and stopped. Spencer was talking and you were laughing. Neither of you seemed aware that everyone else had stopped working. Your eyes blurry with tears, Spencer vividly gesticulating as he was telling you an old story about prank war he had with Derek, years ago.
Luke slowly slid into the chair beside Emily.
"How long do you think?"
Emily sighed.
"At this rate?"
"Yeah."
"Six months."
Luke nodded thoughtfully.
"Optimistic."
Across the room Garcia was already adding notes to the betting spreadsheet.
The funniest part was that Spencer thought he was hiding it.
Everyone knew. Everyone. Including suspects, witnesses, local police.
Once, during a case, a detective looked between you and Spencer and casually asked how long you'd been together.
You nearly choked. Spencer looked like he forgot how talking worked.
The detective immediately apologized.
The team spent three days making fun of him. Spencer never recovered.
The jealousy started by accident.
At least that's what Spencer told himself.
The team was interviewing witnesses at a local bar. You were speaking with one of them. A very attractive witness. A witness who was clearly more interested in you than helping with the case.
Spencer was trying not to stare.
He failed. Spectacularly.
The witness leaned closer, what made Spencer hate him immediately.
The witness said something and your smile vanished.
"Oh no," Luke muttered beside Spencer.
"What?"
"The poor idiot crossed a line."
Sure enough, you folded your arms.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
The witness smirked. Spencer couldn't hear his response. Whatever it was, he didn't need to.
Your eyebrow lifted.
Three minutes later the witness looked like he'd lost an argument with a lawyer, a professor, and a disappointed mother all at once.
He practically fled.
You walked back toward the team.
"What happened?" JJ asked.
"He told me I'd be prettier if I smiled more."
Emily winced.
"Oof."
"He also suggested women usually aren't greatat this job."
Luke barked out a laugh.
"Well, he deserved whatever you said."
You shrugged.
"I simply informed him his confidence was unsupported by evidence. And that if he thinks me smiling more would help finding the killer, I'm glad his job is cleaning tables."
Rossi laughed into his coffee.
Spencer tried to hide his grin and failed. You caught it immediately.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You look pleased."
Spencer shrugged.
"I enjoy watching arrogant people get embarrassed."
Your smile widened and Spencer forgot how breathing worked.
The breaking point came another two months later. The team was flying home after a case. Everyone was exhausted. Luke was asleep with his head tilted back. Garcia was scrolling through her phone. Emily and JJ were discussing paperwork. Rossi had somehow fallen asleep the second the jet left the ground.
You sat across from Reid.
He sat with a book open in his lap. Supposedly reading. You knew he was reading because he always read.
What you didn't know was that he'd been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes. Because you were sitting directly across from him. And because he was trying very hard not to think about how good you looked. He was failing miserably at that.
You sighed and stretched.
"Can I ask you something?"
Spencer glanced up.
"Of course."
"Why don't you date?"
A few seats away, Emily immediately looked interested. Luke cracked one eye open.
Spencer tried to focus back on the book.
"That's a broad question."
"I mean, you're smart."
He turned a page. The wrong page.
"Kind."
Another page. Still not reading.
"Funny."
The book lowered slightly.
"And ridiculously attractive."
Reid nearly dropped it.
Across the aisle, Luke looked ready to choke.
You continued obliviously.
"Anyone would be happy to be with you."
Spencer stared at the page, not reading a single word. Then he said, almost casually:
"Well, you don't seem interested."
You blinked.
"What?"
The words came out before he could stop them. His eyes widened slightly. The entire jet suddenly felt very quiet.
You stared.
Spencer stared at his book, very intensely.
Like maybe if he focused hard enough he could disappear into it.
"What do you mean?"
He swallowed, slowly lowered the book and looked at you.
"I mean..." He hesitated.
For once, Spencer Reid seemed completely unsure of himself. Then he gave a tiny shrug.
"You don't seem interested in dating me."
The silence was immediate. Absolute.
Across the jet, Luke's eyes snapped fully open. Garcia looked up from her phone. Emily stopped pretending not to listen. JJ pressed her lips together. Rossi looked awake all of a sudden.
You simply stared. Because surely you hadn't heard that correctly.
Spencer realized exactly what he'd just admitted. A faint blush spread across his face.
"Oh."
He looked away.
"That wasn't how I intended to say that."
You were still staring. Because suddenly everything made sense.
The coffee.
The jacket.
The attention to detail.
The jealousy.
The way he always found you first.
"Oh my God."
Spencer let out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah."
"Oh my God."
"I know."
You pointed at him. Completely horrified.
"You're flirting with me?"
Luke physically buried his face in his hands. Garcia made a noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh.
Spencer finally smiled.
Warm.
Fond.
A little smug.
He tilted his head.
"For like... two months now, thank you for noticing."
"Two months?"
Emily snorted.
"Try six."
Spencer groaned.
"Emily."
"What? She deserve the truth.
You looked confused.
"You knew about it?" You looked at everyone, trying to figure out what exactly is happening.
"Technically Rossi had the betting pool."
"I financed the betting pool," Rossi corrected.
You looked back at Spencer, furrowed brows, thinking. Analysing.
"You really like me?"
Spencer's expression softened immediately. Like the answer was obvious.
"Considering I haven't stopped thinking about you for almost a year?"
Your heart completely stopped.
"A year?"
Spencer closed his eyes.
"Please stop repeating that."
"A year?"
Luke laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.
Garcia was openly crying.
And Spencer looked like he wanted the jet door to open so he could jump out.
"Yea" he admitted quietly. You smiled, not taking his eyes off of him.
"That's good" you said eventually and that made him curiously look at you.
"Good?"
"Yea. Because I like you too. For quite some time" you admitted, smiling fully now.
"You do?"
"Yes. Thank you for noticing" you couldn't help but mock him, as you intertwined your fingers on the small table inbetween you.
Garcia already started planning your wedding. JJ and Emily exchanged looks, knowing smirks. Luke just silently handed Rossi fifty bucks, mutting something that sounded like "one week too soon".
You didn't care. Cuz Spencer Reid liked you back.
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