A/N: Cooked this up rq so it probably sucks, but I hope you enjoy it! Please like, repost, and follow if you’d like to see more like this!
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: Not an ounce of proof-reading, Mentions of killers and wounds (not much), fluff
Summary: Hard launching to the team by accident. You wear his hoodie on the jet plane back after an exhausting mission, and everyone notices.
After a long case that managed to drag out for an entire week, the team was finally returning to their home, Quantico. The case of a serial killer targeting teenage girls. A 15-year-old girl was kidnapped, and the team raced against the clock to find her.
It was a hard case for you; you saw yourself in her. She was involved in the same things you were in high school. She was a good kid who went through a lot, and you knew all what that was like.
You barely slept the whole case, constantly brewing new coffee to stay awake. If you did get any sleep, it was because you slipped into consciousness while working in the police station.
You’d eventually wake up on the office couch with a blanket draped over you. You obviously knew exactly who was taking care of you, but for the sake of HR and your job, you had to feign ignorance.
No one could know about you and Reid.
You loved him, you truly did. He was everything a woman could ask for. Between his nerdy facts and his cute face, you were down horrifically.
No matter how much you loved him, you knew that as a female agent, you would never receive respect if you were dating a male coworker. People would assume you slept your way into your position. They would overlook the countless hours and dedication you put into your job.
You weren’t willing to sacrifice that, so you and Reid came to a mutual decision to keep your relationship a secret.
It was hard, but it was important. You couldn’t risk your relationship distracting you or getting in the way of your job.
Eventually, after grueling 16-hour days working to find her, Penelope managed to find where he was hiding her. The girl narrowly survived, with deep gashes and cuts from the killer's relentless torture.
You knew this case would haunt you. It wasn’t abnormal for you to have nightmares about the worst ones. They wouldn’t go away, but after time they became manageable. The insomnia wasn’t so bad anyway; you actually managed to get stuff done during the night.
The times when you were able to fall asleep were few and far between.
Hotch noticed— hell, the whole team did— but the BAU isn’t exactly known for its compliance. There wasn’t anything they could do except encourage you to sleep. You wouldn’t listen; it’s not like you could control the nightmares, they just came to you.
Soon enough, the team was boarding the jet and setting off for home.
One by one, the team shoved their bags underneath the plane into the storage compartment. Morgan, ever the gentleman, usually took the women’s bags for them and tossed them along with the others.
Each member boarded the plane, walking up the steep steps of the plane stairs. Inside, Hotch looked around.
“Where’s Y/n?”
The team really hadn’t noticed you were missing. Not because they didn’t care, but because they were so exhausted they could barely keep their eyes open.
Except Reid, of course. He was extremely aware you weren’t on the plane, but he feared that if he was the only one to bring up your disappearance, it would look suspicious. He knew Hotch would notice eventually, so he stayed quiet.
The team glanced around the room, looking for you before deciding you were absent from the plane.
“Huh.. That’s unusual. She’s always early”, Morgan stated. He reached into his back pocket where his phone rested, pressing each number until he was ready to dial your cell phone.
Just as he was pressing the last number, the stairs thumped frantically.
Hotch grabbed his gun on his belt, not drawing it, but ready in the case of an emergency.
But it wasn’t an emergency; it was you. Your hair was a mess, and your makeup from yesterday smudged on your face. You wore fluffy pajama pants, slippers, and a large oversized drawstring hoodie.
The team glanced over you. You looked horrid, but that wasn’t what they were concerned with. They weren’t looking at your slippers, or your bright pink Hello Kitty pajama pants, or even your extremely messy hair. They were focused on your hoodie, the one they were all too familiar with. It didn’t belong to you. It belonged to Dr.Spencer Reid.
Emily’s mouth dropped open, immediately panning to Spencer, who wore a pink blush on his face, before turning to JJ and Morgan, who were both looking at each other already. Hotch and Rossi glanced at each other, with a smile on Rossi’s face while Hotch wore his same old stone-cold face.
You were confused as to why JJ, Emily, and Morgan were giggling. Even more so, why Rossi was smiling at your appearance. You knew you looked a mess, but you didn’t look that bad.
JJ turned back to face Rossi, “So how many weeks is it?”
“10 weeks,” He replied, still wearing his smile.
“Dammit,” Morgan and Emily said in unison while reaching into their pockets for their wallets.
“I really thought I had this one,” Morgan muttered while pulling out a crisp $100 bill and handing it back to Rossi, Emily doing the same.
You looked at the scene in front of you in utter confusion.
“Can someone explain what’s happening?” you awkwardly laughed, trying to make sense of the situation.
“Uhm.. It appears you’re still wearing my hoodie… and now the team knows. It also seems that they’ve made bets on how long it took us to slip up and reveal ourselves. I actually considered the possibility that this would happen, but it seemed quite slim. I should’ve known, considering it depended on an extremely large number of variables”, he rambled, blush remaining on his face.
“Oh”, you said, walking slowly and finally slumping into a seat with a loud thump.
After a minute, the giggles quieted down, and the team started picking their seats.
As Emily passed you, she whispered in your ear, “Congratulations, you’ll tell the girls all the details later at girls' night, right? I want to know everything.” She giggled as she walked away.
You knew she was joking, but your face went red, and you buried your face in your hands.
Spencer took his seat next to you, pulling out a book as he began telling you facts about the author.
“For as profound as Dostoevsky is, he actually only wrote to pay off his financial debts. He suffered from a gambling addiction. In fact, he wrote it in only twenty-six days, which is only five days slower than Jack Kerouac wrote when working on ‘On the Road’.”He rambled on about Dostoevsky.
It obviously wasn’t his first time reading Crime and Punishment, but it was one of his favorites, and he often re-read it for enjoyment. He had an eidetic memory, so re-reading them wasn’t really necessary, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.
Hotch watched the two of you. Studying how you interacted and how you treated him. Reid was like his son, and he cared deeply about how he was treated, even if Hotch sometimes failed to treat him right.
When Reid eventually quieted down and became focused on his reading, Hotch looked at you from across the table.
“Just make sure to report it to HR”, He stated. It was the most approval you would ever get out of Hotch without him saying it directly.
So maybe dating a federal agent wouldn’t turn out to be so detrimental to your career.
You leaned on Reid’s shoulder as he read. Snuggled in his hoodie and resting on him, you managed to fall asleep.
Safe to say, that was the best sleep you had in over a month.
A/N: Please like, repost, or follow if you liked this and want to see more!! My requests are always open! <3
could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍
Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333
"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.
"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.
"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."
The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.
All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.
"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.
"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.
You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.
Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.
"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.
"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."
You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.
"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.
He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.
Summary: You, Spencer, your kitchen in the morning. You love each other. That's all.
Category: so so so so so much fluff
Wordcount: 800ish
a/n: very first post!!! aaah!!! nervous!!!! (also gosh I cannot express in words how much I need this reader to be me????)
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You awoke groggily in the half-dark of your bedroom, instinctively reaching for Spencer's familiar warmth to your right. When you found it to be missing -a frantic hand only clutching sheets- your heart immediately sank. You rolled onto your side, limbs still sleep-heavy, and scowled at your alarm clock. Way too early to be awake, but for Spencer, anything.
You dragged yourself out of the cozy warmth of your bed, shuffling your feet into your bunny slippers, you smoothed one hand over your face as you took a sip of water with the other.
A soft clang in the kitchen caught your attention, the prospect of finding Spencer there even more alluring to you than sleep. You shuffled to the kitchen in a slow rhythm reserved for the elderly and the just-woken-up, treasuring Spencer's adoringly scolding look upon seeing you awake.
"I thought you'd sleep in today, sweetheart," he says softly, the amber softness of his eyes betraying how glad he was you didn't. A wave of rush flowed through you as you took in his still messy hair from sleep, his oversized sleep shirt still loosely clinging to his torso and his checkered pyjama pants which were obstructed from view by an open cabinet. You thought this is what all the songs must have been on about.
"Wanted to see you," you muse sleepily as you stroll closer to him, "wanted to say goodbye."
He closed the cabinet and opened his arms, a small and silken-soft smile playing on his lips. You fit into his embrace as a love letter in an envelope, perfectly. His arms around your frame, your head on his chest, his sleepy softness seeping through your skin like warmth from a campfire.
"I thought we'd said goodbye yesterday? He says, not quite a whisper, but no need for anything much stronger either.
You had. At length. Spencer was set to leave for a case in a few hours, one all the way in Oregon, and you would have to miss him for a couple of days. It was hell, you decided right there and then, to even miss him for a morning, how would you manage a week? Of course this was not the first time, but it somehow always felt like it. Spencer's presence had become so natural, so necessary, such a part of you, that it seemed foreign to be away from him at all.
"We did," you relent, burying your face even deeper into his warmth and scent, "but I already missed you."
Spencer chuckled softly, all the world's affection captured in a sound. "My sweet girl," he whispers into your hair, "I missed you too."
And you could eat him right there, you could hold him forever, you could do just about anything with the electricity you felt blooming in your heart and cheeks. "Hey, I have a great idea," you mumble into his embrace.
"Oh yeah," you can hear the smile in his voice, he can hear the sentence you're about to say, because you say it every time, "and what's that?"
"Don't go."
"You make it so hard on me," his smile is broad and kind and kissable.
"I have to, don't I? Fighting for my cause and all that," you put your chin on his chest, looking up at him with half-shut eyes.
"So proud of my little activist," he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
"So you're staying?" a glint of a smile tugs on his lips, you ask this every time.
"Wish I could, sweetheart, wish I could," he bends down slightly to capture your lips in a quick, soft kiss. You're in love. You're in love.
You wind your arms around his neck and start planting small kisses along the column of his throat. He smells like himself, you can't get enough.
Spencer's eyes flutter shut, a content hum leaving his lips.
You punctuate your love with a particularly loud kiss behind his ear, drawing a small chuckle from Spencer, who softly caresses your sides over your worn t-shirt. He nuzzles his nose into your hair and breathes out, the picture of morning ease and contentment.
"You didn't have to get up for me," he tries again, his voice almost lost in your hair.
"I wanted to."
You feel him smile against the skin of your neck. "Secretly, I don't really mind it…" he trails off.
"Oh, you 'don't mind it'?" you tease, stroking his jaw and bringing his face closer to yours.
"Hm-hm," he shakes his head, smile rivaling the sun in July, "kind of like it, actually."
You love him like this. Soft and warm and all yours. The world is still asleep, it's only you two on this planet, or in this kitchen, same thing. With Spencer, same thing.
The coffee machine whirs, asking some of Spencer's precious attention. He kisses the top of your nose before tending to its needs (you're not jealous, you swear). "You want a cup?" he asks, already reaching for your favourite Miffy mug.
You smile and nod, he knows you.
☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️
a/n: aaaah guys! first post!!! tell me what you think!!!!
Warnings: Rated R. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. Minors, do not interact.
Featuring: Spencer Reid GN!Reader.
Contains: Alcohol. Drunkenness. Dancing. Mutual pining? Friends to lovers.
Summary: You're not really sure how it happened, but somehow you managed to drag Spencer Reid onto the dance floor at a bar. In your drunken haze, you could've sworn you fell in love with him.
It was so very rare that the team all got to go out like this.
You were excited to be out. You usually drank way too much, got Garcia to drive you home, and ended up ordering far too much Chinese food for one person. It was a chance to be a person. Not a cop. Not a hero to some family. Just a girl.
You were sitting at the bar, three drinks in. You were on the edge of being drunk, just enough alcohol in your bloodstream to make you smiley and giggly and much more fun than whoever you had to be at the office or in the field. And even though you all showed up to the bar together, it seemed like you all wanted your space. Morgan was off dancing with some girl. JJ and Emily and Garcia were all laughing and playing darts. And Spencer was… wait, where did he go?
You spun around to see Spencer awkwardly sitting at a table. Just a few minutes ago, you thought he was hanging out with a few people, talking about Star Trek and Doctor Who and all those things he loves so much. But now he’s alone and looking around like he’s a fish out of water.
You stood with your drink and made your way over to your best friend. “Hey,” you said, loud enough for him to hear over the music. “You okay?”
Spencer’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine,” he said, but something about the way he said it told you that he was absolutely not fine. You squinted at him playfully, and he rolled his eyes a little bit. “Everybody left. I’m kinda lost now.”
You smiled a little at him. You looked over at Morgan, who was dancing with some girl he met probably about five minutes ago, and you suddenly got an idea. You extended a hand to Spencer.
Spencer looked down at your hand, then back up at your face. “What?” he asked playfully with a brow raised.
“Dance with me,” you said with a sweet smile on your face.
Spencer’s face glowed red like a Christmas tree. “I–I don’t–uh…”
“Oh, come on, you big baby,” you said. You set your drink down, grabbed his hand, and dragged him out onto the dancefloor.
You weren’t sure what happened in those ten seconds, but when Spencer’s hands finally settled on your waist where they belonged, it felt like time stopped. Your hands came to rest on his shoulders. For a moment, you swore the music stopped entirely, but you convinced yourself it was just your drunkenness.
You were not dancing to the music. You were just looking up at Spencer incredulously. He was so pretty, and you were so drunk, and he just swayed back and forth far too slowly for the music to actually be affecting either of you in any way.
You finally seemed to come back to reality when the song changed. Simultaneously, you and Spencer both pulled your hands away. If you hadn’t been so focused on keeping your own face from lighting on fire, you would’ve noticed that Spencer’s face and ears and neck were all glowing bright pink.
“I should… Uh…” he muttered, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets.
You shook your head, as if that would help shake you out of whatever moment just passed between the two of you. “Yeah, I should… probably get home,” you answered.
But even as you stepped away from him, there was no denying what just happened.
[y/n] sat comfortably in spencer’s house reading a book they picked out of one of his many bookshelves, waiting for him to come home.
in the small time they have been together, it had become a ritual for [y/n] to be waiting at spencer’s house after a case. [y/n] would: cook a meal, both for spencer and them, light some candles, and wait for him on his sofa with a book. it was something that brought spencer and [y/n] comfort, as they both anxiously waited to see eachother after his cases.
after a hard case, this ritual had become extremely important to him as the case he was coming back from was particularly long. the time away from [y/n] made spencer realise that he missed his partner deeply, not just emotionally but physically too.
whilst he was on the case, trying to hunt down another white male in his late 30s, spencer could not get [y/n] out of his head. every time he came back to his hotel room, all he could think about was how he wished [y/n]’s arms were wrapped around him.
physical touch was something new they had introduced into the relationship and with spencer being a germaphobe, he hated touching, especially their hands. [y/n] was very apprehensive of introducing it into the relationship but it was something they deeply appreciated so they both decided they would slowly introduce it.
both [y/n] and spencer had been spending a lot of time at each others apartments and just before spencer left, both of them had just recently started sleeping in the same bed, cuddling each other to fall asleep. [y/n] had gotten used to this, so when spencer had to leave for his job, it meant that they missed having spencer wrapped in their arms dearly.
[y/n]’s thoughts were disrupted when they heard the lock turn and the door fling open, they quickly got up to greet their boyfriend, “hi, baby!” they smiled warmly and quickly embraced him.
“hi, my love,” he grinned, “what did you cook? it smells amazing.”
“i cooked your favourite!” they said excitedly.
spencer took this time to get changed from his work clothes, into comfortable wear. he made his way to the kitchen where [y/n] was cleaning the dishes they had dirtied because of the meal and he leaned against the doorframe, admiring his partner.
[y/n] finished cleaning the dishes and turned to walk out the room, “jesus spence, you scared me!” they said startled, walking past spencer to get to the living room.
spencer followed them as though he was a lost puppy, [y/n] plopped themselves on the sofa. spencer pouted at them and [y/n] looked at him curiously before asking, “what’s wrong spence?”
“i missed you so much during the case,” he whined as [y/n] stared at him lovingly, “all i could think about was your hugs, your kisses, your cuddles — all my thoughts were being invaded by you!” he explained, “it was almost like i was craving you but, i couldn’t even do anything about it since you where nowhere near me.”
[y/n] smiled at him, “oh yeah?”
“yeah.” he pouted, crossing his arms in the process.
“i think we should do something about that shouldn’t we?” spencer nodded eagerly.
[y/n] laid on the sofa, indicating to spencer to lie down with them. he quickly plopped himself onto [y/n] as they wrapped their arms around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back with one hand, and with the other, playing with his hair.
“mmmm, this feels so nice, thank you my love.” he said loving all the attention he was receiving.
Hiyaa. Since it’s been an eternity this one is a little on the longer side. Kind of an early mgg birthday celebration🎉💕 let me know if you need a part two! Also: sorry for portraying poor Andersson this way😂 inspo for the slow song:
Description: Spencer enjoys Rossis wedding/the view of his favorite colleague. Then someone disrupts his bliss..
Pairing: Reid x female bau reader
Content: pining, jealousy, just protective cutiepie Spence
Warnings: toxic masculinity, disrespectful talk about women, alcohol consumption
Wordcount: 1900
~~~
"Damn, excuse my French but what I'd do to hit that..."
An almost snorting kind of spiteful laugh disrupted the harmony of the occasion and ripped Spencer from his cheerful thoughts.
It was Rossi’s wedding. He has been so happy for his older colleague and mentor all day, celebrating life with his favorite people. It didn’t matter they were work, it felt just like family. The kind of big chaotic family he himself never had.
It was only an added bonus that he got to admire his longtime crush and coworker y/n in a gorgeous, crimson-colored dress all day. Enhancing the curves around her waistline just beautifully. As much as he didn't want to focus on such superficialities, even he couldn't deny that thought. Every now and then catching one of her dreamy awe-struck glances when Rossi looked at his bride or someone held a romantic speech sends chills down his spine. Always earning one of her sweet smiles when their eyes met.
So, it was pretty obvious why he was having a great time even though he normally dreaded these kinds of social events.
But standing here, waiting for the bartender to fix him up with a drink whilst hearing somebody talk like that about y/n shot an arrow straight to his heart and made his stomach turn.
Talk he couldn't, in a million years, connect in his mind to y/n. No matter how desperately his infatuation with her - he found it a sin to degrade the depth of her beautiful personality and grace in such a vulgar way. Stereotypical macho assholes.
He couldn’t help but further overhear the conversation between the two men also working for the bureau, ignorantly sipping on their drinks just a few feet away from him.
"To be straightforward here, I've had my eye on her for quite some time now..", Andersson confessed to the other guy. "Ain't easy to enjoy that precious view all week without doing anything about it, I can tell you that!
"Well, then how come you haven't put your charms to work already, dumbass?
"Oh, believe me, I tried.. but that one is a tough nut to crack."
Spencer's jaw clenched automatically at their choice of words. He balled his sweaty fists next to his body.
"Is that so? The dark-haired man let out a low whistle. “Well, she sure doesn't look like that.. or dresses that way!" He purposely emphasized the last part of his sentence. Again, their ringing laughter echoed in Spencer’s ears like a siren.
“But considering you’ve already swayed her once on the dancefloor today, it sure shouldn’t be too much of a challenge to finally claim your prize tonight, don’t you think? After all, you know what they say about chicks at weddings.” The stranger nudged Andersson in his side while almost spilling his drink on him. “Especially if they're single, I mean.. she is single, right?” Andersson let out a long breath, “Well.. no one really knows, actually. She’s not exactly open about things like that. But considering the long hours she often stays behind in the bullpen, I just always figured she was.”
As he was just about to react to his theory, Andersson’s friend spotted Spencer at the bar.
“Doesn’t Daddy Longlegs here also work in her unit?”, clearly the unfamiliar hunk was already too drunk or just too ignorant to realize that he was talking more than loud enough for Spencer to hear him. “Let’s see what he knows.”
Timed perfectly, Spencer was just being served his dry martini - now he really thanked himself for choosing something this strong - as Andersson addressed him hesitantly,
"Um, hey, Reid. I was wondering.. If maybe you know something about y/n's dating life. You know, given the fact you work together pretty close.. is she, uhm.. available?"
Already in the midst of turning on his heel, he felt especially triggered by his choice of words and eventually couldn't help but address this.
"Well, first off all, Andersson, y/n is a person, she is not available like a stapler lying around, unoccupied. And second, if you're so interested in that matter, why don't you gather up the courage and ask her yourself? After all, you seem to be confident enough to inappropriately talk about her behind your back.
So if you'd excuse me."
He didn't even wait for either of them to react. Having his mind already made up about what he needed to do now, he quickly scanned the room for y/n.
And there she was, as radiant as ever. She sat at the BAU's table alone after just seemingly having declined Garcia's offer of hitting the bar for a refill.
Spencer's instinct of protecting her from what he just heard immediately set in. No matter how old-fashioned and stereotypical it might be - he knew she could handle herself very well on her own. But he couldn't help it. Be it the alcohol in his veins or simply his infatuation with her.
"Hey Spence!" her voice chirped, a little hoarse from the glass of sparkling champagne in her hand. The corners of her mouth curled up into a lovely smile upon seeing him approaching her.
But he wasn't smiling. His eyes hid the weight of a thousand worries, all stirred up by the conversation he had just overheard. Worries of her being taken advantage of by some douchey colleague whose only goal is to get into her pants, and probably even worse than that: the egotistic fear of her actually enjoying that kind of attention. Because if the latter was the case, he'd lose her right before his eyes. Losing her.. how would that even be possible? Considering his constant lack of acting when it came to y/n, he knew he had not the slightest right to feel possessive about her.
Her smile was slowly fading as her eyes widened in an expression of surprise or worry, mirroring Spencer's own.
"Would you consider- I-I mean.. do you wanna dance?" he blurted out, just when she was about to ask him what was wrong.
This certainly brought back the smile on her face while leaving her a little flustered at the same time.
"Oh.. Why, yeah, sure!", she resisted looking behind her to rule out the possibility of someone (Morgan) setting him up to that move.
As she noticed his hesitant glance at her hand y/n wanted to take the pressure from him. "You know, we can just dance like this", she reassured him as she placed her hands on his shoulders carefully, trying to read from the look on his face if he was comfortable with it. "Avoid the dangerous hand bacteria, right?". A proud smirk adorned her features. He smiled down at her.
Right. Of course, y/n had not the slightest clue that his only reason for hesitation was self-protection. Not from the potential bacteria on the palm of her hands though. When it comes to her, he has parted with his principles quite a while ago and grown more than fond of the idea of physical contact. A subject his daydreams not seldom evolved around.
His concern was much rather to protect himself from the effect her hands in his might have on his very being, let alone his concentration.
As if reading his mind and wanting to free him from his concerns all the same, y/n reacted instinctively to the next song which really slowed down the pace.
Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Is this okay?", she asked shyly as he noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, only adding to her loveliness. Must be the champagne, he thought. “Of course”, he muttered barely audible, his throat dry and his body practically burning with love and desire for the girl in front of him. The woman of his dreams and probably his best friend in the world.
"By the way", Spencer suddenly felt the need to clear his throat, "you look beautiful tonight." Again that lovely pink hue on her cheeks. "I mean, not that you wouldn't always look nice. It's just.. that dress really suits you."
"Thank you, Spencer" y/n responded immediately, reassuring him she got the compliment. Being used to her mostly calling him Spence, his full name on her lips caused his stomach to flip with adoration.
God, how he wanted to kiss her right now.
"You know, that's actually really sweet of you", y/n suddenly ripped him from his thoughts.
"What?", he was frowning his brow in bewilderment. Surely, she couldn’t have read him like that.
"Well, the Spencer Reid I've gotten to know and like wouldn’t exactly count dancing to his favorite activities.. and considering people’s excessive interest in your engagement in this activity, I sure do understand why."
Only now that y/n lead his attention back to the room he noticed how some of their team members were meticulously observing the two of them. Garcia cheered them on excitedly, almost spilling her glass of gin and tonic while Morgan steadied her in his grip, giving Spencer an impressed nod.
A small giggle escaped y/n's throat as she faced the floor for a split second, eyes darting up to meet Spencer's again. She shrugged, "Thanks for doing it anyways."
"Nothing to thank me for, y/n." Her name slipped from his tongue like butter. It always had.
“It’s my honor.. I-I mean, today’s so special, I wouldn’t have missed spending time with my favorite person for the world.” Spencer felt particularly bold this very moment with her hands wrapped around his neck.
“She beamed up at him, looking for words to say. But instead, her face froze as something or someone behind them caught her attention. Negatively.
“Did-did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to-“, “No! Spence.. I’m glad I’m here with you too.. it’s just, I was especially relieved about your dancing enthusiasm today since it’s pretty sure saving me from some hungry predators waiting for the right moment to attack”, her eyeballs slightly rolled back at her comment.
Even though he knew exactly who she was referring to with her metaphor, he carefully adjusted their position to confirm his suspicion.
The two men, too, were observing them but were apparently oblivious to the amount of chemistry existing between y/n and Spencer. The unfamiliar guy was clearly instructing Andersson as to how strategically proceed in getting y/n to dance with him as soon as she and Spencer parted ways.
"Yeah, I-I've noticed. Is there anything I can do? Should I tell them to leave you alone?"
Y/n smiled at him gratefully, "Oh no, Thanks that's really not necessary." Her mind, however, seemed to completely trail off. Her eyes fixed on the small back door close to them.
"Well, actually, since you're asking already.. there might be one thing you could do for me." An almost childlike excitement stole onto her face.
"But you need to follow me, right away, alright? Do you trust me Spence?"
Okay, so now he really had no clue as to what she was up to, and even though he was a little nervous about her sudden change in demeanor, he still couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the mischievous look in her eyes.
Instead of answering verbally, Spencer decidedly took her hand into his and lightly nodded his head without ever breaking eye contact. “I’m right behind you.”
And all of a sudden, they took off. Y/n’s heels clicked loudly on the floor as they hurried their way toward the back door in long strides.
“Well, buddy, so much about your ambitions”, the dark-haired man patted Andersson on the back on the other side of the ballroom and downed the rest of his long drink.
Summary: It’s your birthday and Spencer has a special gift for you. Despite multiple attempts, he struggles to find the perfect time to present it to you.
A/N: Slight warning for very slight mentions of blood - just a smallish cut. Let me know what you think!
Part Two
Masterlist | Requests
Your birthday was often a strange event, as were those of the entire BAU you supposed. Last year you and the team had been chasing an unsub with a penchant for collecting fingernails around Seattle and the year before had been spent liaising with the LAPD to catch a serial arsonist. It was safe to say, that this year your expectations were a little low; you were hoping for a fun drink or two with your colleagues but little else other than a full night’s sleep.
It was surprising, then, and really quite nice that you were not miles from home; for once, there had been no invitations from far away states and you and the team were merely completing paperwork. It wasn’t the most exciting thing you could be doing for your birthday, that was for sure, but you were too used to the wrong kind of excitement to care.
The clack of wheels drew your attention from the wordy document you were currently poring over. “Hey,” you greeted, a warm smile gracing your lips as you looked at Spencer. “You come to help out?” You asked, lifting your pile of yet unfinished paperwork into his eye-line.
Almost shyly, his eyes averted from yours - darting first to his wringing hands before landing on the closed door of Hotch’s office. “I’m kidding,” you gave him, cutting him off before he could awkwardly tell you that it was against some kind of rule.
Relieved he nodded with a chuckle. Spencer, in general, seemed a nervous individual. Although you always considered skittish a better word for him. His social confidence had more than improved over the years, but there were plenty of things - just like anyone else, you supposed - that still melted him back into nervousness. His show of nervousness now, therefore, was nothing particularly new. Why he was so nervous in this very moment, however, you couldn’t quite pin down.
Eyes darting down to his hands, gripping a neat parcel in his lap, you raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Own eyes jumping down to it, he stammered over a response but never quite got the words out. Garcia interrupted him before he could muster a full sentence, announcing her sudden presence with a stream of glitter and confetti pooled upon your desk. “Oh wow,” you tried to enthusiastically exclaim as she also tossed some confetti in a way that ensured it landed in your hair.
“Happy birthday!” She all but squealed as you shook your hair out.
A wry smile overtaking you, appreciating the thoughtfulness if not the gesture itself, you nodded up at her. “Er Thanks, Garcia.”
You and Spencer both leaned back as a large bouquet of flowers was heavily placed on your desk. The smell, while pleasant, was a little overwhelming. As Spencer tried to subtly cough beside you, you grinned at the flowers. There was no question that Garcia had chosen them herself; the petals were a wonderfully soft pink but the most obvious clue was the somewhat garish addition of roses that had been sprayed with gold glitter.
Moving the large vase to the corner of your desk, the flowers still overtaking the majority of the space, you thanked her. “They’re really… something.”
She beamed, not catching the amused glance you shared with Spencer, and waved a hand. “Oh it’s nothing,” leaning in to sniff one of the pink flowers, she continued. “I know you’re not a big birthday kinda person but you absolutely cannot expect me to ignore such a big day!”
Placating her enthusiasm, you stood to make a show of smelling the pungent floral fragrance. “They’re lovely, really, thank you.”
She somehow beamed a little brighter and, gripping your hand and tottering in her heels slightly with excitement, she pulled you alongside her. “There’s more!”
Gracelessly falling after her, you turned your head to shoot a wide eyed grin to Spencer who returned the gesture with a warm gaze of his own.
———————————————————————
Fingers tapping against the carefully wrapped parcel in his lap, Spencer watched you go. A little wave of disappointment crested over him but was overshadowed by what he knew would be short-lived relief. There was both an excitement and fear tied with the gift he was hoping to give you; his ever busy mind harassing him with constant questions of whether he had interpreted your behaviour objectively enough, of whether he was about to ruin your friendship forever, and more importantly whether you would understand the meaning of the gift regardless.
Somehow, he had managed to cut through that whitenoise of uncertainty and follow Morgan’s advice; “they’re being awfully patient with you but I’m telling you now, thats not gonna last forever. You better make a move sometime this century.”
The gift would be his quiet, subdued confession; one more than overdue but still nerve wracking. He loved you and in his own, perhaps cowardly, way he would tell you with this gift. That is, if he were able to ever actually give it to you.
Watching you go had therefore been disappointing but the feeling had been immediately salved as you looked back at him. The look felt like a secret, a glance shared between the two of you like whispered gossip; your thoughts conveyed perfectly only to him with such a simple gesture.
With markedly less enthusiasm, he wheeled his chair back to his own desk, deposited the gift back into his drawer, and stood to join the party now happening in the round table room.
———————————————————————
An hour and a half later, the expanse of time that Hotch was willing and able to put aside for non-work related activity, the party was reaching its close. Spencer admittedly had not been to a great many parties, but he was sure their impromptu gathering could not be accurately defined as one. Still, you seemed to enjoy it; laughing animatedly with JJ as she made some joke he couldn’t quite understand and happily licking the butter icing from the top of your birthday cupcake. The latter action sent an almost audibly sputtered breath from him as his eyes caught sight of your lapping tongue. Things only worsened when Morgan pointed out the icing smeared over your lips. In a single swipe you collected all the icing on the tip of your pointer finger and proceeded to salaciously suck the finger clean. Although, he was certain he were the only one in the room deriving such guilty pleasure from the objectively normal action. When it came to you his thoughts often derailed into either hopeless romance or crimson desire.
Normal work set in quite quickly after that. The usual routine of the office a little lighter after the celebration but the tasks still menial despite the ease Spencer found in them. Even as he flipped through the pages of his last folder, eyes zipping down the last page, he couldn’t prevent a small portion of his attention sticking fast to the gift he was yet to give you. Time was ticking by and he felt that if he didn’t do it today, he would never work up the courage again.
You were at your desk, your hunched figure almost framed by the dramatic floral arrangement still upon your desk. Hand resting upon the gift, as though the item would somehow bestow him confidence, Spencer methodically formulated a plan. He wondered if maybe he should approach under some other guise, add some forced casualness into the giving of his gift, but he couldn’t conceive of a viable option.
He considered making you a coffee, a splash of milk and one and a half sugars just as you liked, but it was past four pm. You never drank coffee after two pm, even when you were miles from home on a case filled with late nights. It was some unspoken rule of yours that he had never seen you break.
He considered bringing a file over to you and asking for help. That ruse would be see through, however. He had never asked you for help before and the mere prospect that he wouldn’t have finished by now would certainly either cause you great suspicion that he was up to something or inspire concern in you that something had happened to his brain.
His lips twitched and fingers drummed against his desk as he considered his options. It seemed, much to his chagrin, that he would simply have to approach you guiseless.
Something Spencer’s wandering mind had somehow not noticed, however, is that in all the time he had been considering his options his eyes had been fixed on you. It was little surprise, really, his gaze found you so often it was likely his eyes naturally rested upon you at this point. Unfortunately, the passive attention had not gone unnoticed. Your lips forming his forename pricked his ears and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
Focusing more intently on you, he leaned towards your desk with a question. “Sorry, what was that?”
You didn’t answer immediately, eyes wandering over his figure in some kind of assessment of his faculties. Eyebrows crinkling together when you rematched his gaze, you stood and moved closer to him. “You okay?” He nodded quietly, swallowing thickly as you stood over him. “You seem a little… lost in thought.”
Gaze dropping from you momentarily, he looked to the gift still beneath his palm. It truly was now or never. He opened his mouth to speak, lifted his hand to offer the parcel to you, but was cut off by a loud and sudden yowl from the kitchenette. The pair of you turned your heads in tandem, the yell so full of anguish it was impossible to resist, the gift hovering between you yet to be accepted.
The source of the yell was Morgan. The man was cradling his right hand as he leaned heavily against the sideboard, pain apparent on his features and continued groans escaping him.
Neither of you moved right away, assessing the situation as best you could from afar but when crimson began leaking from his clenched hand you took off with a muttered curse. Depositing the gift back upon his desk, Spencer quickly sprang from his desk to follow you.
———————————————————————
“Morgan, what happened?!” You asked, voice high pitched and frantic, as you pried his clenched fist open. A large cut was sliced across his palm and as the pressure of his fingers lifted the gory mess worsened dramatically. “Reid, hand me that paper towel.”
“Got it,” came Spencer’s reply beside you. You raised a grateful glance to him as you took the paper towel before concentrating on your task. Pressing the towel over the cut, you encouraged Morgan to use his other hand to apply significant pressure.
“Look in the sink,” Morgan gave eventually, by way of explanation. Peering into the murky depths of the overfilled sink you raised an eyebrow.
Spencer voiced the question on your mind. “I don’t see anything?”
With a huff, Morgan nodded, “exactly.” Nodding to the sink, he continued; “someone,” he stressed the word as though he knew exactly who that someone was, “left a knife in there despite me telling her every week how dangerous it is.”
Spencer grimaced at the sight of blood seeping through the paper towel and leaned closer with crinkled eyebrows. “Let me see,” he requested, frown deepening as he inspected the wound. “You’re going to need stitches,” he asserted, much to Morgan’s clear disappointment.
Morgan looked to you as though in search of a second opinion, you merely shrugged. “I’m not gonna argue with the doctor.”
Spencer gave you a little smirk. A few months ago he might have reminded you that he wasn’t actually a medical doctor but it seemed he knew you well enough by now to recognise the joke.
“I’ll take you,” you offered Morgan with a sigh, already fishing for your keys in your jacket pocket.
Spencer’s voice stilled you. “I can do it,” looking to him, you raised your eyebrows in silent question at this strangely sweet gesture. “It’s your birthday,” he pointed out needlessly, “and there’s only seventeen minutes left to work; you’re going out for drinks tonight,” you nodded in a confirmation of this fact that he didn’t really need. “enjoy your birthday, you don’t get to very often.”
A smile lifted your lips even as you felt guilt wash over you at the prospect of letting Spencer deal with this. Considering, you chewed your lip. Your lengthy consideration, however, seemed to take a little too much time for Morgan. “I’m about to bleed out over here,” you rolled your eyes dramatically at him.
“Are you sure?” You asked, attention back on Spencer, shifting in your heels in premature excitement.
“Absolutely,” he told you, resolute.
You squealed with excitement and, overcome with gratitude, sprang forward to hug the man. He responded with a surprised “oh” alongside an almost nervous chuckle.
“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back but still smiling up at him. The pair of you remained like that, smiling dumbly at each other, for perhaps a moment too long.
Morgan straightened and interrupted the moment with a clear of his throat. When he had gained your attention, he told you with a smile; “happy birthday, really, but my hand is gonna fall off if we don’t go soon.”
“That’s highly doubtful,” Spencer began, almost looking affronted by the outlandish suggestion, “for your hand to ‘fall off’ it would be necessary to cut through several layers of skin and muscle. Plus-“
“Reid, let’s go.”
Remembering himself, Spencer blinked rapidly a few times before nodding like a bobble head, wishing you a last farewell, and rushing off after Morgan.
Watching the pair disappear you sighed, hands wrapping around your elbows. A strange disappointment that you couldn’t quite place had overtaken you as they had left. Pulling yourself together, wanting to feel nothing but positive on your birthday, you turned your attention to the kitchen.
You cleaned up as best you could, wiping down the surfaces and carefully extracting the offending knife from the sink before draining the ruby tinged water. Within ten minutes the kitchen looked as though nothing untoward had occurred; a miracle really, considering the surprising amount of blood Morgan had produced.
With little time left until you were free to enjoy your birthday to the max, you meandered back to your desk. On the way, the forgotten parcel upon Spencer’s desk caught your attention. Changing trajectory, you stopped at his desk and delicately fiddled with the tag of the gift. Your name was scrawled upon it in Spencer’s familiar, somewhat scruffy, handwriting.
Would it be considered rude for you to take the gift and open it? After all it was clearly meant for you and he had already attempted to deliver the gift himself.
This ‘consideration’ was merely surface level; the gift was in fact already sitting upon your own desk being less than delicately unwrapped by your impatient fingers.
Slowly, a book was revealed. As you turned the tome over a gorgeous floral illustration met your gaze. Running your fingers over the somewhat raised golden lettering, you read the title; “The Secret Language of Florists.”
A few months ago you had been entirely floored to learn the secret messages that could be sent using nothing but a well designed floral bouquet. You could hardly remember what had been the catalyst for the conversation, perhaps one of the BAU’s many unusual cases, but you had been strangely fascinated by the entire concept. A sprig of purple heather to wish the recipient good luck, for example. And, your personal favourite, the inclusion of a single white daisy as a silent vow to keep a secret.
There were so many more that Spencer had entertained you with, but they had fallen from your mind amongst the plethora of white noise that daily life forced upon you.
Excited by this gift, you turned to the first page. Between the cover and the first page, a pressed flower delicately sat; it’s rich red petals striking against the ivory white of the page. As you lifted the flower, wishing to admire its preserved beauty, you inadvertently revealed more of Spencer’s scrawled handwriting upon the page.
A message from me to you.
You grinned widely to yourself, shifting so excitably in your seat that anyone watching would think you were attempting some strange dance. So, the flower was a message - one the book could help you decipher the meaning of. Feeling like a spy deciphering this secret encoded message, you looked to the flower.
Even in its flattened state the flower was clearly a chrysanthemum. Taking care not to tear any pages in your excitement, you found the double page spread devoted to the flower. An illustrated yellow chrysanthemum decorated the middle of the page, providing confirmation that you had been correct in your initial assessment, and you skimmed through the surrounding words.
White chrysanthemums were symbols of truth, apparently, but you skipped past the rest of the explanation to find the meaning behind your red chrysanthemum. As you read the words, you brought the flower close to your chest. Your lips broadened into a giddy grin and your heart felt as though it may burst with sudden fullness.
A red chrysanthemum, very simply, means ‘I love you’.
Summary: there is no scientific explanation for what reid feels about her - no physics theorem or law that could account for the tingles he feels at her touch.
Couple: fem reader x spencer reid (i picture early seasons cause he's very vulnerable and soft)
Warnings: crying, insecurity, self-doubt, not feeling good enough, spencer sobbing into reader (🥺), mentions of a patriarchal and misogynistic society that objectifies women (welcome to the world), overwhelmed! spencer yelling, men being players, a love so pure and beautiful you'll want to sob into your pillow at the thought of never feeling this way.
Words: 2950
Time to read: 7 minutes
Following the loud slam of the door against the frame, the space around the two of them felt deafening. Neither dared speak a word, instead too scared that anything would startle the other, and they’d be gone.
Spencer’s chest was heaving, rising and falling like the movement of the ocean, like the movement of his fluffy hair as he paced from one side to the other while Morgan explained to him that “the way people feel about you is only the way you feel about yourself” and that “if you were more forward, they would match your energy” and that “it's just a matter of deciding what matters the most: whether you’re honest to yourself or if you have the impact you wish to have”. Spencer, though understanding perfectly what his dear friend was explaining, was still having trouble figuring out why she wouldn’t see him like that.
And it wasn’t like he could blame her - I mean, at the end of the day, nothing has ever happened between them. Everything that he had struggled with was in his mind: a mere construct of his imagination. An idealisation of “what if”s and “what could’ve been”s if he had been brave enough to ask her out soon enough.
He wished that wasn’t true, but it was.
And as he had lied down on their shared bed, night after night, on that one case that never seemed to fucking end, all he could think about was the ghost of the accidental brush of her bare leg against his arm as he shut his eyes forcefully, trying desperately to get the exhaustion take over so that no other feelings would consume him.
***
Spencer is a man of great self-restraint. He’s been desperately holding back since the beginning of time.
As a kid, he learned quickly to put others above himself. He was forced to take the role of the adult when he was far too young. He quickly started excelling in school, which was outstanding. But it also meant that he would have to start going to school with the older kids, graduating from MIT at the mere age of 16. He quickly learned that going through life by looking down and apologising was the easiest way to live in peace while minimising the chances of getting hurt, both emotionally and physically.
This also has downsides, though, the most prominent one being his inability to talk to other people without feeling like his mere presence would annoy them.
Which often translates to isolation.
“Spence?” her soft voice startled him from his train of thoughts. He wondered how much she knew. Neverending questions with the same structure, the same “why is that”, the same rhythm, all which went unanswered. He understood nothing, no matter how much he knew. All types of facts could come swarming into his head, facts about chemistry, and neurobiology and human behaviour that would never resemble the answers he needed. The one question he needed an answer to was the same question that couldn’t go answered unless asked.
His hands were fiddling, trying to find comfort and stability in their own touch.
“Why is it that you don’t see me like you see them?”
A question which had been on his mind seemingly forever and, still, he couldn’t put it into simpler, less childish, wording. He didn’t even care if he seemed stupid. Spencer Reid only needed an answer to that question.
“What are you talking about, Spence? Who are they?” she carefully walked closer to him, somewhat afraid of his heavy breathing and twitching fingers, fearing that he would hurt himself or get startled.
“T-them… You know” his fingers were dancing against each other clumsily, eyes fixated on the tips of them, and she felt the need to give him that comfort he was looking for. Her fingers laced around his own, separating him. The tips of her fingers made their way up to his chin forcing his eyes onto hers.
Her soft voice was as melodious as ever because, though somewhat deep, it felt like it danced between their chests. As if the vibrations that rumbled from her chest were picked up, absorbed, by the man so consumed with her.
“I really don’t. We talked about this, Spence. If you want something you have to ask” she lowered her voice as her gaze penetrated his own. Spencer’s eyes danced around her face, making sure he had memorised her factions correctly. She smiled reassuringly, pulling his left hand towards her face, kissing the palm of his hand as she waited for him to go on.
His brain was going a thousand miles per hour, trying desperately to ignore the wandering idea of his heart reaching out to hers, allowing them to dance comfortably around the comically tiny hotel room they were in. He wanted to stop imagining her warm cheek against his chest as they danced to the silence. He wanted her closer to him.
He looked down at her body. Anybody else would think that he was checking her out, but she felt entirely comfortable, knowing his gaze was purely analytical, perhaps a little curious, but never aggressive or sexual.
“When did you stop seeing me like… like a guy?” he spluttered the last words, not knowing what to say.
For a genius, he was having a really hard time expressing his feelings.
He looked at her, analysing her microexpressions, trying to make sure she wasn’t going to laugh at him. God, please don’t laugh.
But she only frowned, bringing down his hand from her lips to dangle comfortably in the all-too-wide space between the two of them.
“What do you mean, Spence? I see you like a guy” she defended, though softly, still trying to understand where this was coming from and what was making him so damn anxious.
He pursed his lips as he looked down, frowning. He brought his hands up to his face, letting go of hers, and rubbing it.
“No I-... No you don’t!” he raised his voice, looking over at her quickly. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… look at what you’re wearing!” he signalled to her outfit. “Fuck I- Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You look great” he softened as he looked at her confused, yet hurt look.
“Spence, I think we have to sit down for this” she offered. Her attempts went towards trying to stabilise his erratic emotions, knowing that when he was feeling anxious he would get overwhelmed and lash out.
He followed her, watching her every move. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m uhh-” he fumbled again, “I’m sorry, really, for lashing out”.
“Don’t worry about it, Spence. Why don’t we start from the beginning?”
**
“Pretty girl looks really cozy right now, Reid” Morgan’s voice pretty much boomed over the two agents, or at least that’s how it felt like for Spencer, who was incredibly invested in the idea of her getting a good amount of sleep before they got to the unfamiliar precinct.
For such a smart guy, Spencer rarely understood his feelings. The few times he was able to express what he was feeling verbally were solely when the feelings revolved something like “overwhelm” or “sadness” or that itchy feeling in your gut when something is wrong and you can’t really figure out why. As the years went by, and as Spencer became more intrigued with finding people to surround himself with, he made it a task to be able to describe his feelings in a more eloquent way.
He gained experience, little by little, by reading romance books: those types of books which express every single little emotion that goes through the character. It was fairly ironic, though, that he read romance books, which are known to be an idealization of what real relationships are like. Nevertheless, for the sake of his pursuit for emotional and verbal clarity, he decided to continue reading them.
However, it wasn’t as easy as the writers put it out to be. Because they always talked about that moment when you see somebody, and the words are just there: all you want to do, nay, all you know how to do is try to express to them how happy they make you, and how happy you hope to make them.
But that never came.
So Spencer had to reconsider his method of research. After a while, he read in a textbook about how some people have less trouble expressing their emotions through movement.
Now, if there’s something we all know, it’s that Spencer is an uncoordinated fella.
This is a long-winded way of saying that Spencer started to draw his feelings. He started expressing a lot with his hands, with his body, trying to get his emotions across. He started carrying a black little notebook where he drew the feelings, the movement he was feeling.
And right now, he felt like invisible strings were tugging at his chest, forward, toward nothing in particular. The feeling made him sit a little taller, be a little bolder, and do absolutely whatever it takes for him to protect her sleep.
“Shhh! Shut up Morgan” he squealed. He hurriedly attempted to soothe her back to sleep as she started shifting in her slumber.
“Okay, okay!” Morgan raised his hands in defeat. “Chill, dude” he chuckled, looking around before leaning in. “But seriously, what’s up with you and her, kid? You got a crush or something?” he teased.
“Maybe you have a crush on her…” Spencer quietly shot back at him, mimicking his voice.
“Mhmm yeah, Spencer would never, would you, pretty boy?” she woke up from her slumber, giggling at the childishness of the two. Spencer’s heart shook and shattered at the loss of contact, as she reclined on her own seat instead of on his arm. He was in utter shock. How much did she hear? Does she know he liked her? Does she like him back?
She rubbed the palm of her hand against her eyes as she held back a yawn. “He is too smart. Probably don’t have time in that busy brain of yours to think like that, do you Spence?” she mumbled, tapping his cheek with her fingers and oh god, the contact had him practically whimpering.
Before he could splutter out some shitty excuse, she crossed her arms on the desk in front of her and went right back to sleep.
****
“My heart could only break as I realised that that’s how you’ll always see me: like I’m just some genius. I want to be more to you, Y/N, so much more” he all-but-whined, the desperation he had been feeling catching up with him. She didn’t respond, instead looking expectantly at what he meant by the memory he so perfectly narrated.
“Look, Spence, I didn’t mean it like tha-” he cut her off.
“No, but you did. See, the same thing happened in our case in Wisconsin” he explained.
**
“Room 202: Y/L/N and Reid.” Hotch finished explaining the sleeping arrangements, not noticing as the two agents looked at each other with excitement.
“Doctor Who marathon tonight?” Spencer read your mind.
“Of course! Get some snacks from the vending machine and I’ll connect my Netflix account to the TV. I’ll meet you there at 11pm. Sounds good?” she planned as they had done a thousand times before that. “Great!” he replied, excited to spend time next to her.
As they called it a day at the precinct, the team was excited about getting to their rooms, each for different reasons. While most were exhausted after the whole day, Spencer and Y/N only wanted to spend time with each other, watching for the nth time the way the weeping angels attempted to kill the Doctor and Clara.
Spencer came into their room, arms filled with candy and chips, completely out of breath. He spoke into the silence of the room. “Y/N! I’m here” he crossed the short space between the door and the bedroom and dropped the snacks on the bed. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into his sweatshirt and pyjama pants as he waited for her to get out of the bathroom.
As he sat down, turning on the TV, he saw her emerging from her room in only her underwear naturally.
“Oh shit! Well, you don’t mind, do you?” she dried her hair with one of the white towels as she wore nothing but the black underwear to her suitcase.
“Uhh- sure! I mean, no. I- Go ahead” he stumbled over his words, watching her every move. She was so calm, so unafraid…
****
Don’t get me wrong, I love that you trust me as much as you do. Really. I’m incredibly happy that, in a society such as ours, completely misogynistic and disrespectful to women, you could find comfort and ease with me. But it is also a strong indicator that you don’t see me as a strong male presence, and studies conducted in Germany in 2015 showed that, out of a sample of 172 adults or all genders, there was a strong tendency of attraction towards people who are more dominant or strong than weaker people” he ended his rant, hoping she understood.
“You are not weak, Spencer” she corrected him.
“I know, but I- you… You’d never wear this in front of Morgan!” he raised his voice. “I just-” sigh.
“I don’t understand why I can’t be one of those guys that girls like you want to date. Really, I wish I could be them, but I can’t” he spat the words like they burned his tongue. Like the memory of them emerging from his throat were burning holes into his mouth, making him detest everything about them.
Her soft hands raised to grab his cheeks softly, pulling him closer to look at him. His honey-coated eyes were pulled out of their usual dance around the room to look at her. Her own eyes capture his, making him feel like he suddenly couldn’t look away. She tsked, seeing all the emotion behind them. There was so much self-hatred and despair in his teary eyes, making her own tear up at the sight.
“Oh baby…” she pulled him into a hug, allowing him to collapse on her. His bigger, certainly taller body collapsed fully onto her as he sobbed, all the pressure he had been feeling from months ago lifting slowly from his shoulders.
His wet cheeks nuzzled into the nape of her neck as he found solace in her arms, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. She lifted her hand to caress his cheeks, moving his hair out of his face, feeling like she could have communicated more with him to prevent this from happening.
“I’m sorry this has been weighing on you, pretty boy. And I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell me” she tried to soothe him.
“Baby, those guys, guys like Morgan, they aren’t looking for what you look for. They want meaningless sex because, for whatever reason, they don’t feel like having relationships. But you are a sentimental guy, and enjoy the kindness that can only be found in a relationship.” she reached her hand to caress his back softly as his sobs calmed down. “They aren’t like you, Spencer, in the most beautiful sense. You are such a special man, Spence, and I’m so sorry that the world hasn’t allowed you to feel that way” she whispered, lowering her face to kiss his forehead.
“You mean that?” He looked up at her. Coming from any other guy she would’ve thought that he was fishing for compliments or trying to be vulnerable to get her into bed, but he needed the reassurance, and she didn’t mind giving it to him. Not at all.
“Yeah! You and I… We are not shy of a spark. Emotional connections are a beautiful thing, and waiting until you can connect in that way with somebody is one of the most worthwhile experiences in the world. I don’t think you should be ashamed of that, baby” she tenderly explained, trying to lift his spirits a little bit.
He raised his head to look at her, holding the weight of his upper body on his hands which were placed at the sides of her face. He armed himself with pure courage, with a mixture of exhaustion and desperation.
“Do you think you can want me even if I’m not like them?” he finally confided in her his truest feelings. She stared at him in shock.
“Fuck I- Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’ll g-” his words were interrupted by his lips crashing onto hers. Her lips moved sloppily against his own, their teeth bumping against each other. His hand went to caress her face as she deepened the kiss, setting a stable rhythm.
This is a feeling Spencer understands. It is, as they call it in romance novels, a climax. The moment where the two characters unite their paths, becoming one. Butterflies and fireworks and all the other cliché descriptions of the pure love they were feeling suddenly became real. He felt like his chest was erupting with the most beautiful colors, like he was expressing with watercolors what words couldn’t.
They broke away, looking at each other with such love and longing. None of them said anything, as if the lack of action between them could get this moment to extend to the point of becoming an infinite moment. Just the two of them, staring at each other, feeling the other on their fingertips, the tingling sensation of their mouth still lingering.
But she broke the silence.
“Spencer, I’ve always wanted you”.
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I THINK IM BACK YALL!!! I THINK I GOT THIS UNDER CONTROL AND WILL START TO POST MORE FROM NOW ON!!! <3
