All That Mattered
A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader inspired by Nancy Mulligan by Ed Sheeran (I am obsessed with this song right now). It doesn’t chronicle their whole lives, just the beginning. The two have different backgrounds and religions, but they don’t care. All they care about is being in love. Also, if you want a visual for the reader, I imagine her looking like Kala from Sense8. @coveofmemories
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“So, we’re doing this?” Spencer asked hesitantly, checking in with her for umpteenth time that she was okay with how everything had played out. Last year, the two had met on a case; they needed her expertise as a microbiologist for the case they were working and once their eyes met, Spencer fell in love with her.
He asked for her number and they began talking, but the moment Spencer asked about her parents, she clammed up. After emigrating to the United States from India for a job, her parents, specifically her father, had tried as hard as he could to instill very traditional Hindu values in her, most of which she held. But even at 24, he wanted to arrange her marriage, and he wanted that marriage to be to a Hindu man. She didn’t want that. She wanted Spencer - and she’d marry him with or without her father’s permission.
“I’m sure,” she said, placing her hand over his. “I love you. I want to marry you. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. My father be damned - intolerant man.” Spencer had done what he thought was right, going to Y/N’s home, taking off his shoes at the front door as was custom in a Hindu household, and asked her father to marry her. He told her he loved her with all his heart, wanted only the best for her, thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but none of that mattered to Y/N’s father, because Spencer wasn’t Hindu, and he wasn’t someone, at least in his eyes, who would take care of Y/N, even though she needed no one to take care of her.
“Then off we go,” Spencer said, his voice lighter than air as he pulled away from the curb and toward the Mayhurst Inn, which was hours away. Y/N had always wanted to get married there, so when they decided to elope under her father’s nose, Spencer pulled every string he could to get them their own private ceremony and subsequent weekend honeymoon at the Inn. It cost him a pretty penny, but he would have done anything for her.
Despite not holding conservative Hindu values, Y/N practiced what she felt were the true values of Hinduism - she strived to achieve dharma, she believed that truth was eternal, she believed in helping others, and she still observed many of the customs she was taught growing up. She removed her shoes as she walked in her home. The ceremony of Vastushanti was something she brought up when it come to them buying a house together - the yagya that was performed during the ceremony would clear the home of ghosts and/or negative energies. She prayed to the different deities, including Krishna, Shiva and Vishnu. One of the big traditional values she refused to hold was thinking of her husband as God, and Spencer was fine with that. “Being a God would be too much pressure,” he’d laughed as he kissed her on the nose.
As Spencer drove to Mayhurst, Y/N called to confirm that the mendhi artist would be coming to cover her arms before the ceremony. Although she wanted a traditional American wedding in most regards, she’d always that the mendhi was beautiful. She’d also be wearing a red saree, as was tradition for the region in which her parents grew up. She’d actually picked it out with Spencer, blushing with embarrassment when he told her, that if it was possible, she was even more beautiful.
Her father would be furious, but none of that mattered; she loved him and he loved her - more than anything else in the world. All of her worries dissolved as they drove up to Mayhurst. “This is really happening,” she said, her voice cracking as the tears formed in her eyes. “We’re getting married!”
After they checked in for the weekend, Spencer went to their room while she got her arms covered in the traditional mendhi and put on her dress. When he first saw her, he couldn’t hold back the tears. “You look stunning, Y/N.”
A priest that was used to melding American and Hindu wedding traditions together had arrived, ushering the two to a small spot on the property, where no one else but he and the gods would witness their union. The hastamilap, a ceremony where the bride and groom’s hands are tied together with a cotton thread wound several times, was the most important to her. It was the one piece of Hindu wedding traditions she’d insisted on. “Do you, Spencer Walter Reid, take Y/F/N Y/L/N as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, for richer or for poorer, keeping yourself solely for her as long as you live?”
“I do,” he replied, looking into her eyes as the rest of the world dropped away.
“And do you, Y/F/N Y/L/N, take Spencer Walter Reid, as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, for richer or for poorer, keeping yourself solely for him as long as you live?” he spoke softly, barely heard over the rustling of the leaves.
“I do,” she sobbed, gripping his hands even tighter.
“Then by the power invested in me by the State of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Spencer, you may kiss your bride.” The priest stepped back, walking quietly away as the newlyweds kissed, forgetting the rest of the world, and what might await them when they returned home, focusing only on each other - because that was truly all that mattered.
