➳ LOCH NESS — S.R
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spencer reid x archivist!fem!reader
your first non-sanctioned trip to the bau is met with the upwards brows of derek morgan, and maybe dr reid gets a bit too defensive
wc: 1.4k
warnings: none!!!!! maybe like.. allusions to sex? but it’s vague and jokes idk 😭 takes place the day after frigid
a/n: another one written in my notes app lovingly at 3am. so it’s lowk shit and i kinda hate it but i love these two too much to stop sorry :(
You’re halfway through talking yourself out of this when the elevator doors open and your eyes are graced with the buzzing hallway of floor six.
You gulp, hugging the two cups close to your chest, a thick, heavy brown overcoat—his—draped over your forearm. The lights are brighter up here, it smells faintly like citrus cleaner and someone’s too-strong cologne and nothing at all like what you’re used to.
Paper and dust and faded ink.
It’s loud too, far louder than you’re used to, the sounds of phones ringing and pens scribbling and people chattering that it feels like this is a whole other world. Like there’s no way this is the same building as the room you work in.
But you take a heavy breath and stick your leg out quickly as the doors begin to close before you can even make it off the elevator.
You feel horrendously out of place in this area full of suits and slacks and general business attire.
Your FBI badge hangs off your cardigan and you wonder, for a moment, with all of these people milling around you, if you even deserve to wear it.
You haven’t been anywhere above the main floor in six years, bar once.
Three weeks ago. Agent Hotchner of this very unit had requested your assistance on a case. But that was different—you were called up here, and he had met you at the elevator to lead you to the conference room himself.
Now? Now you’re here alone, nobody meeting you at the elevator because this is a non-bureau sanctioned visit to the BAU.
And it’s making you really fucking nervous.
But you grip at the handle of the heavy glass door with your pinky, pulling it open with your foot with a soft grunt to enter the bullpen.
It’s not that people stop and stare, really, but… but it’s awkward. Like, really awkward.
You imagine, from what you know about Dr. Reid, his desk is the one covered in stacks of books with a messenger bag propped against the side of it, but he’s not there.
Who does spot you, however, is Agent Morgan.
And you swallow roughly. Because he is openly staring at you with his brows raised so far up his forehead that you’d worry they’d get lost in his hair, if he had any.
He’s staring at you like someone just walked in dragging the fucking Loch Ness monster and simply said “Hey, I found her.”
You blink at him.
It’s a small miracle that Dr. Reid is approaching his desk again, sitting down and immediately scribbling something onto his file.
You don’t hesitate—not with Agent Morgan looking at you like that—and make a beeline for his desk.
Spencer blinks up at you, like even he’s shocked you’re up here. (He is. He doesn’t think Hotch called you up here again).
You don’t give him a chance to speak before you’re setting a cup down on his desk and drop his coat over his lap.
“You forgot your coat,” you mumble quietly. “And, uh, I got coffee. As a thanks for last night. I stopped by that place on Eighth you mentioned a while ago.”
His lips curl into a little smile, but you grab the lid off his cup before he can grab it, checking the contents before swapping it out for the one in your other hand. “Mixed them up,” you offer lamely, an embarrassed grimace on your face.
Spencer just huffs a soft laugh, taking a sip. Sweetness melts on his tongue and his eyes go slightly wide as he looks up at you. “You know how I take my coffee?”
You shrug. “You dumped four sugars into yours that one time,” you take a sip of your cup. “I just figured that’s your usual.” You remembered it, actually. He said he had a sweet tooth and you’d stored the information away for later use.
This is that later use.
He’s barely able to mumble out a thank you before you’re nodding and darting back out the glass door towards the elevator, slamming your palm on the down button.
You step inside and keep your head down as the doors close, sending you back eight floors down.
Morgan stares at him. “Oh hell no,” he says, dropping his folder onto his desk. “Did she just say ‘thanks for last night’ and walk in here with your coat?”
Spencer blinks, spluttering. “Wha- no! N-no, it’s not like that!”
“Oh, I see how it is, kid,” he cackles, leaning in. “You two kept warm, huh? Played a little basement survival?” His grin reaches ear to ear.
“I- Morgan, it wasn’t like that!” Spencer huffs, face redder than Garcia’s glasses of the day. “She didn’t have a ride home! I drove her. She was freezing, I didn’t- Nothing happened!”
Garcia chooses then to walk into the bullpen from her office, a wide grin on her red lips. “Did I just hear basement survival?” she stops beside Morgan’s desk. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“You’re blushing, Spence,” JJ laughs, hardly looking up from the file on her desk.
Spencer falters. “I- I always blush,” he mutters, ducking his head to hide the obvious redness that’s flushed up his neck and cheeks and ears. “I have sensitive skin!”
Morgan leans back in his chair with a smug chuckle. “It’s always the quiet ones, huh? Records cryptid and the genius golden boy. Who’d have thought?”
Spencer just sighs, picking up the cup again and taking a long swig. “She just brought me coffee, okay? That’s not some secret code for anything.”
Garcia smiles coyly. “Oh sweetie,” she says, tone dripping with honey. “For you? That’s basically a marriage proposal.”
“It is not! JJ brings me coffee!” Spencer groans, gesturing to her with his hand.
JJ raises a brow. “I don’t leave a cave and come up from a basement for like, the third time this year just to do that though.” She still hasn’t looked up from her desk, once.
And Spencer just blinks. Okay, maybe it was a bit of a big deal, you coming up here. He knows you rarely leave B3 other than just coming and leaving work, but still. It’s not like it’s some deep, important, big thing, you were just… being nice.
Right?
He lifts the cup to his lips again with a quiet, heavy sigh, just to furrow his brows.
Scribbled in tiny font on the side of the red cup, is your handwriting.
i hope you weren’t too cold driving home. thank you for being kind.
And, oh. Just underneath is the shyest, sweetest little doodle of a snow cloud . Because of course.
He blinks, then just stares at it with a goofy little half-smile, picturing you writing it on the way over, and now he’s cradling this paper coffee cup like it’s made of solid gold, when Morgan approaches over his shoulder and snatches it out of his hand.
“OH MY GOD,” he howls, dramatically clutching at his chest with his free hand. “A HANDWRITTEN NOTE? Reid, you got a love letter from the basement dweller!”
“Morgan, give it back!” Spencer stands, lunging to flail and grab his coffee back, a deep furrow in his brow.
Penelope gasps, running over from her spot beside Morgan’s desk. “A love letter?! Oh, let me see!” she laughs.
“It’s not a love letter,” Spencer huffs. “It’s just a- a thank you, that’s all!”
“It is absolutely a love letter, kid,” Morgan cackles, holding the cup up above his head as Spencer reaches for it again. “Spencer Reid and goblin from the Archives. Sounds like a Netflix original,” he laughs again.
Spencer’s not laughing.
In fact, he’s pretty frustrated, honestly. Not only at Morgan stealing his coffee, but at the names he’s used for you.
Names that came from office gossip. Names you don’t like, but deal with anyway.
Records cryptid. Basement dweller. Goblin from the Archives.
It’s not nice, not kind, not what you deserve.
And he knows Morgan means nothing malicious by it, he knows that. Derek is kind. But he doesn’t know you, either. Nobody really does, that’s the problem.
“She’s not ‘the goblin from the archives’, or a ‘basement dweller’, or a ‘cryptid’, Morgan. She has a name,” Spencer huffs, crossing his arms. “Give me my coffee back. Please.”
And that shuts them up.
Because he’s not laughing, he hasn’t been laughing since Morgan grabbed his cup in the first place. It’s not funny anymore.
Derek nods, setting the cup back down on the desk before raising his hands with a soft sorry, kid before heading back to his own desk. Garcia offers a tiny smile of apology before backing into her office again.
Spencer sighs. He doesn’t mean to snap, really. He doesn’t like doing that. But you deserve to have people know your name.
And if he’s the one who has to remind people of that for you, because he knows you won’t do it yourself? Then yeah, he will.













