⋆⭒˚.⋆ gloss and golden light - spencer reid x bombshell! reader
⟢ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 the case gives you an excuse to sit across from spencer over coffee. the way he looks at you reminds you he never really needed one.
⟢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 fluff, fluff, LOADS of fluff (about damn time), mutual pining, two idiots in love, spencer reid is down bad, reader is also down bad but she acts like she isn’t. SO MUCH flirting i stg they just keep going at it. spencer gets fairly distracted. case discussion.
⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.5k
⟢ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 finally my baby’s get to be happy FOR ONCEEEE, it’ll go uphill from now on! (for now) ALSOOOOO guys feel absolutely FREE to ask anything about these two in my ask inbox or request to see a specific fanfic! gif by @reidgif
𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
the limbo you and spencer had fallen into was quiet, careful, and strangely wonderful.
it had been a little over a week since the morning in your apartment
since the shattered mug, the bandaged hand, the conversation that cracked both of you open just enough to finally admit what had been sitting between you for months— years even.
nothing had been labeled. god no. neither of you seemed ready for that yet.
there were no dramatic declarations. no sudden shift into something effortless and fearless.
if anything, the two of you moved around each other even more carefully now, like people learning the shape of a bruise— gentle, tentative, checking constantly to make sure the other wasn’t hurting.
but you were trying.
really trying.
the instinct to run still lived under your skin. it still flared sometimes when spencer looked at you too softly or said something that made your chest feel too full.
but now, instead of bolting the second you felt exposed, you stayed. even if it was only for a few extra seconds at a time.
and Spencer noticed every single one.
he noticed when you started texting him things that had nothing to do with work. random articles at two in the morning. pictures of your morning coffee made in different mugs in your collection cus it was far too big for your own good. a blurry photo of a bookstore window because this feels like something you’d like.
be oticed when you lingered after debriefs instead of disappearing immediately afterward. when you started sitting closer to him on the jet again. when your shoulder brushed his and you no longer jerked away like you’d touched a live wire.
small things.
tiny things, probably insignificant to anyone else.
but to him, they felt enormous.
because every one of them was you choosing not to run.
it was terrifying, letting someone see even these small pieces of you. everything felt like handing over a little more control, but you were doing it anyway.
the rest of the team was out chasing leads, leaving you and spencer tucked into the corner of a small café a few blocks from the precinct.
imterviews had wrapped earlier than expected, and hotch had sent the two of you to organize notes while the others followed up on a witness statement.
sunlight poured through the tall front windows, warm and golden against the scratched wooden tables. the café was quiet enough that the soft hiss of the espresso machine and the occasional turning of a page somewhere behind you blended into the background.
case files were spread across the table between you, highlighted maps and victim timelines scattered beneath half-finished coffees.
you were talking through the profile, pen tapping absently against the paper as you traced a route across the map.
“so i think the profile is holding pretty well,” you said, tapping your pen against the geographic map. “the unsub is clearly organized, but the victim selection still feels personal. all these women are high-functioning, independent— but he strikes when they’re most isolated.”
you glanced up, expecting input.
spencer was looking at you, not the files.
he had barely read a single line in the last ten minutes.
which made sense. spencer found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else lately. he was supposed to be contributing, but his brain had other plans.
he loved listening to you talk. there was something about the way your mind worked— sharp, fast and brilliant that left him completely and stupidly captivated.
his gaze was soft, almost absent, tracing the way the sunlight caught in your hair, the small furrow between your brows, the unconscious rhythm of your pen tapping against the table.
“earth to dr. reid?”
nothing.
“spencer.” you nudged his foot just enough beneath the table to cause him to snap back into himself.
he blinked, like he’d only just remembered where he was. “hm?”
“i was talking about the profile.”
a faint flush climbed into his ears.
“right.” he cleared his throat, dragging his eyes back to the map with visible effort. “sorry. uh— yeah, i think you’re right. the resentment fits. especially if he perceives independence as rejection.”
you watched him for another second. you nodded, but your eyes narrowed slightly, playful suspicion creeping in.
the minutes slipped by in that easy, familiar rhythm the two of you had fallen into lately. you were both leaning over the small corner table, highlighters in hand, voices low as you continued to piece together the unsub’s pattern.
at one point, between the concentration towards one section of the map, you absentmindedly set your highlighter down as you pulled out a small lipliner, a gloss, and a tiny compact mirror from your bag with the casual grace of someone who’d done this routine a thousand times.
“…actually,” you murmured, still looking over the map as you uncapped the liner, “i think we’ve been looking at the timeline backwards.”
he looked up, utterly transfixed,
you angled the compact toward yourself and began carefully tracing the shape of your lips.
god, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to how beautiful you were.
and it wasn’t just the usual magnetic pull he felt around you. it was now quieter, deeper.
he found himself cataloging every detail like it was precious evidence: the elegant slope of your nose, the way your lashes cast soft shadows on your cheeks when you concentrated, the tiny freckle just above the corner of your mouth that you usually covered with makeup.
“if victim three is the emotional catalyst instead of the escalation…” you frowned slightly, concentrating more on the profile than your reflection. “…then the cooling-off period between murders suddenly makes a lot more sense.”
you finished with the liner and twisted open the gloss you carried everywhere in your purse
“and if that’s true…” you continued absentmindedly, carefully smoothing it across your bottom lip, “…he probably isn’t choosing locations based on opportunity. he’s choosing whichever one reminds him the most of whatever happened.”
spencer didn’t answer— mostly because he couldn’t.
his gaze had dropped to your lips— plush, shiny, the color making them look even more inviting.
and god forbid, his mind wandered, unbidden, to what it would feel like to kiss you right now. not the frantic, desperate kind from the hotel room, but something slower.
something sweeter.
the kind where he could taste the gloss on your lips and feel you smile against him. the kind where he could take his time learning exactly how you liked to be kissed— gentle at first, then deeper, until you made that soft little sound he was already addicted to—
“—don’t you think?”
“hmm?”
“okay,” your eyes narrowed at him. “what?”
spencer blinked, caught like a deer in headlights, though the soft flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “what, what?”
“you’re doing the thing again,” you said, tilting your head as you studied him.
“what thing?” he asked, feigning innocence even as his gaze flickered once again down to your lips before darting guiltily back up to your eyes.
“the staring.”
“i wasn’t staring.”
“you are staring,” you countered, leaning forward just a fraction, your voice dropping into that teasing lilt you knew he secretly loved.
he opened his mouth. closed it again. then, with absolutely no talent whatsoever for lying and that adorably earnest expression that always made your chest feel too warm he said.
“okay— maybe a little.”
you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your mouth, slow and genuine, the kind that started in your eyes before it reached your lips. “a little?”
“a— noticeable amount,” he admitted, the words tumbling out soft and almost shy, like he couldn’t quite help himself.
his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his napkin, but his eyes kept drifting back, lingering on the curve of your smile like it was something precious and new.
you laughed quietly, shaking your head as warmth bloomed across your cheeks. “reid.”
he looked almost sheepish now, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearingly awkward way of his, but the fondness in his gaze never wavered. “i know.”
you rolled your eyes playfully. a quiet beat passed between you before you looked back down at the files, clearing your throat.
“anyway…”
you reached for your pen again, tapping the map.
“if we’re right about the emotional attachment, we should probably have rossi ask about anniversaries. birthdays, dates that would’ve meant something to him.”
spencer nodded immediately, grateful for the lifeline even if part of him wanted to stay exactly where the conversation had been.
“i’ll make a note of it.”
“and maybe expand the geographic radius another ten miles.” you leaned over the map again. “he isn’t choosing convenience. he’s choosing familiarity.”
“i agree.” he scribbled it down, glancing at you every few seconds when he thought you weren’t looking.
you were pretending not to notice. “then we can probably rule out the opportunistic offenders garcia flagged this morning.”
“already mentally ruled them out.”
“show-off.”
“you asked.”
a tiny laugh escaped you.
together, you spent another few quiet minutes refining the profile— crossing out theories, circling new ones, adding little notes in the margins.
the conversation slipped effortlessly back into the familiar cadence the two of you had always shared, the flirting settling beneath it like an undercurrent instead of replacing it.
only when you were satisfied that there wasn’t much else to add did you set your pen down again. spencer continued scribbling, gaze sharply focused on
you picked up the compact one last time, studying your reflection.
“…can i ask you something?”
spencer looked up immediately. “anything.”
you hesitated for half a second before gesturing vaguely toward your mouth.
“does this look weird?”
the question came out much smaller than you’d intended, your usual confident tone softening at the edges.
you gestured vaguely toward your mouth, feeling the familiar pull of vulnerability you tried so hard to keep hidden behind sharp wit and perfect makeup.
for a moment spencer looked genuinely confused, head tilting just a fraction as he processed the words. “weird?”
“the liner.”
you gestured again, a little more helplessly this time. “i kind of overlined the top lip and now i can’t tell if i fixed it or made it worse.”
he studied you with an almost unfair amount of concentration— not scrutinizing like some people did, picking apart every flaw, but simply looking.
and he didn’t look away. he was still getting used to the idea that he didn’t have to anymore
his eyes traced over your face with that quiet, thoughtful intensity he brought to everything important, lingering for a heartbeat on your lips before meeting your gaze again.
“no,” he said softly.
“no?”
a tiny, sincere smile appeared, the kind that reached his eyes and made the rest of the room feel a little farther away. “i actually think you look really pretty.”
the words were so simple.
nothing elaborate. just the truth, delivered in that quiet, earnest way only he could manage.
“oh,” your heart completely betrayed you, a warm flutter blooming in your chest that you tried (and failed) to ignore.
you looked down at the table far too quickly, fingers tracing the edge of your napkin as your cheeks burned. “…that’s annoyingly nice of you.”
you reached for your iced coffee, ice crinkling in its to go cup and mostly because you needed to give your hands something to do
you brought the straw to your mouth, taking a sip. but the moment stretched, and you couldn’t help glancing back at him. he was still watching you, that soft, steady gaze making your pulse stumble.
damn him.
“you’ve been doing this a lot lately,” you mumbled, setting the cup down.
“what?”
“loooking at me like…” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, a little helplessly. “…like that.”
you were trying to seem composed and you were almost certain it was going horribly for you.
spencer smiled to himself, small and shy, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your stomach flutter. “i know.”
“yeah well it’s distracting.”
“yeah, i’ve noticed.”
you finally looked back up again, meeting his eyes across the small table. the cafe noise faded even further into the background.
“so what’s your excuse doctor?” you jutted your chin at him, grabbing your coffee in one hand and crossing the other as you leaned back in your chair.
he held your gaze for a long second, the air between you growing thicker with everything unsaid.
his fingers played with the edge of a napkin absentmindedly, a small tell of the quiet nervousness he carried too.
“i spent a long time convincing myself i wasn’t allowed to.” his voice stayed quiet, sincere in that devastatingly way that was all him. “and now i am.”
the words settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and terrifying all at once.
he keeps swiping the rug from underneath your feet these past weeks and no matter how many times you keep getting up, he keeps finding ways for the weight of his words to press gently against the walls you’d spent so long keeping intact.
“well,” you set your coffee down again despite how red your face had gotten, and mostly because you suddenly needed something to do with your hands. “i think that’s horribly unfair.”
he laughed softly, the sound low and fond, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned closer over the table. “why?”
“because i don’t know what to do when you’re this honest.”
“you don’t have to do anything.” he smiled, that gentle, reassuring curve of his lips that always made you feel seen in a way no one else ever had. “i just thought you should know.”
the simplicity of it—of him—hit you all over again.
there was never any pressure, no grand expectations.
just spencer, choosing to be honest in the quiet spaces between you, letting the moment breathe. you held his gaze a little longer this time, the delicate newness of whatever this was settling warmly in your chest like something you didn’t want to let go of just yet.
you slid your heel closer under the table, the movement slow and deliberate, until the side of your heel brushed gently against his leg.
you watched, satisfied, as spencer visibly tensed— his shoulders tightening just a fraction, his breath catching for the briefest second.
at least he still didn’t have the upper hand as much as you sometimes felt he did.
he responded almost immediately, resting his foot lightly against yours in return. a tiny, hidden point of contact beneath the table that was meant just for the two of you.
enough to make your pulse stumble once again
“you know, i liked you better when you were awkward,” you murmured, the words slipping out teasing and warm as you lifted your straw to your lips.
“i am awkward,” he replied, voice low, that familiar self-deprecating note threading through it even as the corner of his mouth lifted.
“no.” You huffed a laugh. “now you’re like— smooth.”
his laugh escaped before he could stop it— soft, surprised, and utterly genuine, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “i promise you that’s not intentional.”
“no?”
“no.”
he looked at you with that same unbearably soft expression, eyes warm and steady in the gentle restaurant light, like he was seeing every small detail you tried to hide behind sarcasm and perfect lipstick. “it’s just significantly easier to tell you what i’m thinking now.”
the air between you felt charged, electric, like the smallest spark could set everything alight. “well that’s a dangerous development.”
“for who?”
“for me.”
