If I was a witness to something and this woman came to get information out of me that unsub would totally be getting away because my brain would have turned to goo
𐙚⋆.˚Summary: Spencer is smitten for the T.A. at Penelope’s art class. And he just might have a chance with her.
⋆˙⟡♡WC: 2.3k
⊹܀˙CW: Suggestive language, Derek is half neked (for plot reasons of course), Spencer wants y/n so baddddd, Reader is described to have hips (the pic is to show the maxi skirt that I imagined), Reader has long hair.
♪‧₊˚A/N: hiiiiii I love this song + it came on my shuffle yesterday and it gave me an idea so yk I had to get to WORK. I hope u like. If this gets over 100 notes ill write Gravity pt 3. Okay bye bye
Spencer had agreed to take both Derek and Penelope to Penelope’s art class that night since her car wouldn’t start and Derek’s had gotten towed for being parked on the street too long while they were in Florida for a case. Derek wasn’t taking the class with Penelope—he was the model for it.
“It’s a life drawing class,” she had explained, giddily. “They saw Derek pick me up last week and the professor asked him to model for us today. And to bring baby oil.”
The art room was bright and beautifully decorated, with an abundance of ferns and vines and all sorts of greenery adorned onto the walls.
The professor had smiled as the three of them approached the stool that Derek was supposed to perch on during class.
“Penelope! Derek! Happy that you could make it. You can change in the supply closet on the left,” Professor Andi had gasped. “Did you bring some oil? I have linseed oil from my oil painting class earlier today that you can use if you didn’t.”
“I got some, don’t worry, Doc,” Derek had said with a wink before making his way to the supply closet and shutting the door behind him.
“Who is this? Are you here for the class?” Professor Andi had beamed.
“Oh… no. I’m Spencer. I was just dropping off—”
You had walked into the room, your hips swishing in your maxi skirt as you balanced a tower of sketchbooks in your arms.
“Y/N! Hi!” Penelope had smiled. “Do you need help?”
Spencer’s legs had started moving on their own toward you, taking four of the sketchbooks from your stack.
You had smiled politely at the tall man. “Thank you.” The both of you placed the sketchbooks on the table..
“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. Beautiful, he had thought, a warmth spreading through him. The first thing he had truly noticed were your lips—the way they curved into a smile as you spoke, their delicate movements as you formed each word. You wrapped Penelope in a hug.
“Oh,” you sighed, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “How rude of me. I’m Y/N. Professor Andi’s TA. You must be Derek,” you had said, offering your hand.
Spencer, despite a fleeting thought about germs, had found himself wanting to hold it. Your touch was light, and your nails were a pretty pale pink. What would it feel like to have those hands explore…?
Spencer had cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I’m not Derek. I’m, uh… Doctor Spencer Reid—well, just Spencer. Please.” He had fumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to reach for you again. “I’m Penelope and Derek’s ride.”
“My mistake, Spencer,” you had said, your eyes meeting his with a playful tilt of your head. “Will you be joining us today?”
Did you know the effect you had? It had felt almost cruel. He glanced at Penelope, who was practically begging with her eyes.
A subtle smile had played on his lips. “Looks like I will be,” he nodded, his attention already drawn back to you.
“Great! Come with me. Let’s get you a sketchbook,” you grinned, gesturing for him to follow, and he had found himself eagerly complying.
Your backside was just as pretty as your face. He watched you switch on the light in the supply room, the movement causing a soft sway of your hips that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.
You crouched down to the floor, rummaging through bins of pencils. The way your brow had furrowed in concentration was endearing.
“Have you ever taken art class before? Or just been creating independently?” you asked him, your voice a melodic murmur that had sent a shiver down his spine. Gravity had pulled your hair toward your face, showcasing the delicate slope of your neck—a sight that made his breath catch. He wanted to reach out, to feel the softness of those strands against his fingers.
“Neither. This is all sort of new to me,” he admitted, his chuckle betraying a hint of nervousness—a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Especially not to someone who already held his attention so tightly.
“I see,” you said, picking up a large sketchbook and a brand new case of pencils and blending stubs. “Well, what do you like to do in your free time?” Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, his stomach fluttering.
He had taken the supplies from you, his fingers brushing against yours—a brief touch that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wished the exchange could have lasted longer, wanted to linger in that delicate contact. He spent too long just looking at you, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your eyes sparkled. Words, he had reminded himself. He needed to say something meaningful, something that would capture your attention as completely as you had captured his.
“I like reading,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than intended.
You waltzed past him to re-enter the art room, your perfume drifting toward his senses. Hmm… Fresh. Pear maybe? The scent was intoxicating—a promise of sweetness that he desperately wanted to explore. He would’ve followed that fragrance anywhere, even into the deepest ocean.
“Me too. Um… what’s your favorite book?” you asked.
He paused. You wanted to talk to him. The realization sent a thrill through him. What timeline was he in right now? This had felt like a dream.
“I enjoy everything that I read,” he replied. He had known it was a terrible answer, a deflection, but his mind was still reeling from your nearness.
“Okay, but there’s got to be a standout,” you chuckled, raising a brow. Cute. The simple gesture had made him swallow hard.
“Well, recently I’ve been re-reading Orwellian literature, so something of that nature. As of the moment I’ve been particularly enjoying 1984.” He wanted to impress you with his intellect, hoping to find some common ground, some way to bridge the distance between you.
“Ooh,” you sighed, “That’s a good one. Mine right now is probably…” You trailed off, thinking as you opened a fresh kneaded eraser for him. “Lord of the Flies,” you had decided. “Works that ask the question if evil is ingrained into our morality are some of my favorites. I find them the most stimulating,” you said, your eyes holding a captivating intensity.
It hadn’t been suggestive in the slightest the way you had said it, yet it had stirred something within him—a deep need to know you. To know where you came from and the places you'd been. He had managed a curt nod, his usual eloquence deserting him as he had found a seat next to Penelope, his gaze still drawn to your every movement.
After Professor Andi gave a quick review (or introduction, for Spencer) of value and shape, Derek had stepped out of the supply closet, glistening like a glazed donut. The women in the class had turned to each other, giddy and excited. He had taken his place on the stool in the middle of the circle of chairs. Derek smiled at Spencer and Penelope before striking a pose.
Spencer didn’t give a shit, though. He had been staring at you as you peeled a clementine at your desk, the delicate way your fingers manipulated the fruit utterly mesmerizing. You popped a slice into your mouth before wiping the residue from your hands and taking your sketchbook in hand. He imagined the sweetness lingering on your lips—a dangerous thought that made his chest ache. He’s never wanted someone so badly before.
Professor Andi had put on her Bossa Nova playlist. How fitting. Your hoop earrings, the faint flush on your cheeks—you had looked like how Bossa Nova sounded: pleasant and dreamy, an ethereal vision that he had felt he could only admire from afar.
You had begun sketching furiously, a small pout forming on your lips in concentration, your brow furrowed. The intensity of your focus had been incredibly alluring. He had found himself wanting to be the subject of that fierce gaze, to have you study him with such intent. He envied the loose leaf paper of your sketchbook and your 6B pencil that had the privilege of feeling your touch uninterrupted.
“Why haven’t you started yet?” Penelope whispered—not so subtly. It snapped Spencer from his haze, the spell you had cast momentarily broken.
“Huh—what?”
“Your page. It’s empty. Why?”
“Just thinking of how to approach this, is all,” he lied, his mind still replaying the way your hair had fallen across your neck. Penelope had narrowed her eyes but had chosen to let it go.
He had desperately wanted to impress you, to create something worthy of your attention. The thought of your opinion consumed him.
Spencer had somehow managed to find the control to start drawing a half-naked, oiled-up Derek, but his values had gotten a little muddy. He had needed to block out the highlights like Professor Andi had said in her brief lecture. But his kneaded eraser was stiff and wouldn’t warm up in his hands, no matter how long he had pressed it between his palms.
“Do you need help?”
“Uh, yeah, my eraser won’t soften.”
“Y/N,” Penelope said, calling you over with a smile. You peered up from your sketchbook and smiled as you got up to approach her.
“How can I help?” you asked, bending over slightly with your palms on your thighs to be within earshot of Penelope.
“Spence needs help getting his kneaded eraser to knead,” she whispered, biting back a smile.
“No problem,” you smiled, dragging a stool next to him and sitting down. You had leaned in close to get a glance at the eraser. Pears, he had thought.
“Is it hard?” you asked. Ironic, he had thought.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to.”
“You’re totally fine. It happens to me all the time. Here. I’ll help,” you had said, taking his hands into yours. “See this part of your thumb?”
Your long, delicate fingers had softly rubbed the joint below the pad of his thumb. Spencer had nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.
“You’re going to press it against this joint,” you had said, your fingertips now tracing the second joint of his index finger. “And rub the eraser between your fingers to warm it up.” You had placed the square, unkneaded eraser in the described position and guided Spencer’s hands to repeat that motion over and over until his fingerprint had appeared in the softened eraser. Spencer had hoped you wouldn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking as you held them.
“Okay, good job,” you had said, a soft warmth in your voice. Jesus. “Now stretch it with two hands like putty, then roll it into a ball.”
Your molasses gaze had flickered over his fingers, briefly meeting his. He had your complete attention in that moment and he literally had no idea what to do with himself. He had rolled the now-soft eraser into a ball.
“Perfect. Now you can use it.” You smiled at him—a genuine, captivating smile that had sent a jolt through him—before moving your stool away.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a little rough. You nodded politely before returning to your sketchbook.
Spencer had made the decision that he was going to try his absolute hardest to impress you. He had known it was probably stupid, but it hadn’t seemed impossible, and he had thought he had a good shot at making it work.
By the end of the class, everyone had given their sketches to Derek for him to keep. Spencer had handed his to Derek. Derek’s brows had risen.
“You did this?”
“Yeah,” Spencer croaked dryly, his mind elsewhere. He had been watching you through the mirror near the door. You had ripped out two pages and then gotten up from your seat.
“It looks good, actually. Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek had said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.
“Hi Derek, nice to meet you,” you said nicely, smiling. You had handed him your portrait, which—of course—had put everyone else’s to shame, Spencer’s included. You made polite small talk with Penelope until they had eventually needed to leave.
Spencer lingered in the doorway. Ask for her number. Stop being awkward and aloof for five seconds of your life and ask her. But what if you never called him? Should he ask you to coffee instead? Or lunch? You seemed like a brunch type of girl—
“Doctor,” you whispered.
Spencer had turned around, his heart leaping. “I have something for you,” you had said, walking toward him.
“For me?” he asked, a hopeful tremor in his voice.
You handed him something—it was a portrait. Of him.
“I did it after I finished Derek’s.”
It was beautiful. He looked beautiful. The delicate lines of the shadows sketched by your hands, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips… it had been him, and it had been wonderful. And it had been by you. You had observed his face and felt the need to put pencil to paper.
“Would you like, um—Y/N… Do you want to get coffee with me sometime next week?” he stammered, the question tumbling out in a rush. A slow, knowing smile had crept onto your lips, and you had nodded. Unbelievable.
“Yeah, I’d love to, Spencer,” you chuckled breathily, the sound like a melody to his ears.
“Really? Could I… get your number?” he had asked, his gaze fixed on yours.
“Flip it over,” you said, brushing past him, your scent lingering in the air again.
He had followed your directions. Your number had been scribbled on the back of the portrait. “Bye, Spencer.”
He watched you get into your car as Penelope and Derek laughed about something.
Your car had pulled out of the driveway, and you had honked the horn.
Penelope had smirked at Spencer. “Someone made a friend.”
“I saw her helping you ‘knead your eraser.’ I can tell she likes you.”
“You think?” Spencer had asked, biting back a grin.
He sure had hoped so—because he was already obsessed with you.
"Are you sure this is all of it?" you asked Spencer as you triple checked your gift list. "Something for Emily and Sergio?"
"Yes, the matching black sweater." he was quick to answer.
"Arron, Rossi and Dereck?"
"Yes, cigar cases with their initials engraved into them. And a pen bedazzling kit and coffee gift card for Garcia. Lego's for JJ's boys and Jack. And a weekend couple's retreat for her and Will."
He listed all the gifts with ease. Knowing that you'd been stressing to not only think of the perfect gifts but making sure you go them all.
"I'm lucky you're so smart." You hugged Spencer the best you could as he held all of the gift bags. "You remember everything, so I don't have to."
Spencer's rosy checks held a warm, happy smile. The cold weather often did a number on his skin.
"Hmm, after we drop these off, maybe I can offer you can early gift? Peppermint coffee?"
His smile grew and Spencer pressed a kiss to your lips. Your gloved hands held his face as your lips met. Kissing under the large mistletoe that hung in front of the mall's entrance.
My masterlist
Illicit affairs
Being with Spencer means getting lover letters on the regular
