𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒎
a/n: this is @mariposayl’s coffee order for my 100 follower special and i looooove!!! tysm for the request!! your receipt is at the bottom :))
summary: you want spencer to show you how much he wants you, and accidentally push it too far.
content warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, drinking, alcohol, intoxication, reader is kinda flirting on purpose, jealousyyyy, maybe a lil eensy weensy suggestive at the end if you squint
Spencer Reid does not get jealous. Like, ever.
For a long time, it hadn’t bothered you. In fact, it was the opposite— you spent time bragging to your friends about how he wasn’t controlling like most men, how he didn’t care what you wore or who you went out with. It was freeing. It was healthy.
Recently, however, Spencer had become a lot busier. Cases were constantly stealing him away from you. His phone ringing had become regular background noise to your time spent together. He wasn’t necessarily distant, but less time together sure made it feel that way.
When he invited you out to drinks with the team one night, you happily accepted. You enjoyed his coworkers, and his company. You put on one of your favorite outfits, the kind that always got you compliments from the drunk girls in the bathroom.
“You look great,” Spencer smiled when you greeted him at the door.
“Thanks!” You grinned, giving a little twirl so he could appreciate the whole outfit.
He drove you to the bar, asking about your day on the ride there. He likely wouldn’t be drinking, so he always offered to serve as a designated driver for you.
His teammates greeted you as you arrived. They appeared to have started without the both of you, with Garcia nearly knocking you over as she ran to embrace you.
“Hello, my darling angel!” She gushed, pulling you into a hug once she got her footing back. “Oh, I have missed you! I’m so glad you’re hanging out with us tonight!”
“I missed you guys too.” You laughed. “I’m gonna grab a drink.”
“Oh, we already ordered you one!” Garcia smiled, pulling you over to the table with Spencer in tow. “You ordered it last time and said you loved it, so I figured we’d start you off!”
“You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” You took your seat, taking a sip of your drink.
It was easy to lose track of time when talking to them, and before you knew it, Emily was presenting you with a tray of shots.
“Whoa, what is this?” You asked, eyeing the liquid warily.
“Tequila.” Emily said with terrifying calm.
“Oh, I don’t do tequila.” You waved a hand in dismissal.
“You do tonight!” She placed a shot in front of everyone (including you), and with a quick clink and a “cheers” from the group, you knocked back the burning liquid.
“Ugh,” you groaned after, wiping your mouth. “I’m definitely going to feel this tomorrow.”
“Good thing it’s Saturday.” Morgan replied, grinning.
A few more drinks (and potentially a few shots) later, you were really feeling it. Enough that when a really good song came on and Garcia gasped, you followed her to the dance floor with little to no hesitation.
You look over your shoulder as you go, wanting to shoot a smile at your boyfriend. He isn’t even watching you walk away. Rather, he seems deeply absorbed in a conversation with Rossi.
You feel the ghost of a frown cross your face. You felt really pretty tonight. You had done your makeup, fixed your hair up. Not wanting to look like you were trying too hard but still feeling beautiful. Spencer just seemed… comfortable. Like he was too used to you.
That’s probably why when a man sidled up beside you on the dance floor, you didn’t move away.
You were watching Emily and Garcia belt the lyrics of the newest song and dance at each other, throwing your head back in laughter when you noticed him. Not touching you, just standing beside you. Casual. Friendly.
“You’re way too pretty to be standing on the edge.” He says offhandedly.
You still for a moment. But you’re just warm enough from the tequila, and Spencer still isn’t looking at you, and for once, just for a second, you feel admired. Pretty.
“Is that so?” You respond, your words slurring just slightly.
He grins. Not sleazy. Just… interested. “Definitely.”
Spencer isn’t watching at first. He’s still deep in a one-sided conversation about the effects of alcohol on the autonomic nervous system when Morgan nudges him. “Uh, Reid.”
Spencer looks up.
He sees you, looking radiant as ever, laughing and smiling at another man on the dance floor. He watches you push your hair back.
He watches.
Because he trusts you. He’s waiting for you to shut it down. But after the third time the man leans in just a little too close to shout over the music and you let him, he feels heat flare in his gut.
His eyes never leave you the entire time he’s walking over. You turn over your shoulder mid-laugh and see him, and your smile drops.
He settles a hand on your waist. “She’s with me.”
You can feel how bluntly he says it. He can’t even be angry with the guy. You never told him otherwise.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t know.” The guy backs off.
You can’t exactly read his expression. Is he angry? Disappointed? Annoyed?
“I think you’ve had enough. We should get you home.” He says, his voice steady. Neutral.
You don’t object. You feel shame forming deep in the pit of your stomach.
You wave a quick goodbye to his coworkers, forcing a small smile as you walk out into the cool night air. You keep looking at Spencer, trying to gauge him. You can’t.
The drive home is miserable. You feel bad. Spencer isn’t talking, which is unusual for him. The road is blurry and your body feels like it’s suspended in the air when you hit bumps in the road, the alcohol weighing on you in the stillness.
Spencer walks you to your door, ever the gentleman. You pause with your hand on the doorknob, turning to look up at him. “Spence…”
He finally looks at you, and now you can see it. He’s hurt.
“Go inside. Get some rest. We can talk when you’re sober.”
“Spencer.”
“Don’t.” There’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you pull back a little.
You blink at him. The alcohol makes everything slower, heavier, but not enough to dull the look on his face.
“You’re mad at me,” you say quietly.
“I’m not mad.” Too quick.
You swallow. “Then what are you?”
He exhales through his nose. Looks away. Looks back at you.
“You didn’t tell him.”
The words are simple. Controlled. That’s what makes them land so hard.
“I—” You frown. “I was going to.”
“But you didn’t.”
The silence between you stretches.
You hate that he’s being calm. You almost wish he would yell. This careful precision feels worse.
“It was just talking,” you say. Defensive now. “He didn’t even—”
“He was flirting with you.”
Your breath catches.
Spencer steps back half an inch, like even standing close to you right now is too much.
“I waited,” he says quietly. “I didn’t interrupt. I trusted that you would handle it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” you insist. And you didn’t. You know you didn’t.
He nods once. “I know.”
That’s the worst part. He believes you.
“I just… don’t understand why you let him think he had a chance.” He pauses, and you can see something flicker underneath the disappointment. “Did you want him to?”
There it is.
Not jealousy. Confusion. Hurt.
“No.” You say quietly.
“Then why?”
The alcohol loosens your tongue before your pride can stop you.
“Because you never care.”
The words hang between you.
Spencer stills completely. “What?”
“You never care,” you repeat, softer now, tears threatening for reasons you don’t fully understand. “You never get jealous. You never look at me like you’re afraid someone might take me.”
His jaw tightens. “I trust you.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “I know that. And I love that about you. But sometimes I want you to—” You stop, frustrated. “I don’t know. Want me.”
The vulnerability sobers you more than the cold air.
“You barely looked at me tonight.” You continue, voice trembling. “And I just… I felt invisible.”
The hurt on his face shifts into something deeper. Realization. Guilt.
“You think I don’t want you?” His voice is lower now. Not sharp. Not defensive. Just… raw.
You shake your head helplessly. “I don’t know what you feel anymore. You’re always gone. Your phone is always ringing. I feel like I’m just… slotted in when there’s space.”
Spencer runs a hand through his hair— a tell. He’s unraveling.
“I know I’ve been really busy at work,” he admits quietly. “And I thought bringing you tonight was me choosing you. I thought being there was enough.”
“It was,” you say quickly. “I just… I wanted you to look at me like you couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching me.”
There’s a long silence. You’re suddenly all too aware that you’re having this conversation outside your door, where others could hear. You have goosebumps from the cool air.
“You think I could stand it?” His voice cracks just slightly. “You have no idea how difficult it was to stay at that table.”
Your breath stutters.
“I didn’t want to be possessive,” he continues. “I didn’t want to embarrass you. I didn’t want to be the kind of man who assumes you need defending.”
“I don’t,” you say immediately.
“I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”
The air shifts. It’s less tense now. More… charged.
He steps closer. “I don’t get jealous because I respect you. Because I trust you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel when someone looks at you like that.”
Your heart is pounding.
“I waited for you to shut it down,” he says quietly. “And when you didn’t, I started wondering why.”
You think somewhere in the back of your head, through the thick fog, that you may just be the worst girlfriend there ever was.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. And you mean it. Not because you danced. Not because you spoke to someone. But because you underestimated how much he feels.
He studies your face for a long moment.
“I love you. But I wish you would’ve just told me you’ve been feeling neglected.”
You chew your lip. “I just needed to know you still—”
He steps into you fully now. Hands finding your waist again. Firmer than before. Not angry. Grounded.
“And for the record,” he adds, thumb pressing into your hip slightly, “if he had touched you, I would not have stayed calm.”
Your stomach flips.
You pull back just enough to look at him. “That almost sounds like jealousy.”
He huffs the faintest laugh.
“It’s not jealousy,” he says. “It’s that I am very aware of what I have.” A pause. “And I don’t take that lightly.”
He kisses your forehead first. Gentle.
Then your mouth— slower, deeper, and very, very intentional.
Not to prove anything.
Just to remind you.
And when he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours.
“I’m sorry I made you feel unwanted.” He murmurs.
“I’m sorry I didn’t shut that guy down.” You reply.
“I can’t blame him.” He smiles softly. “You look incredible tonight.”
You grin in spite of yourself, the heaviness lifting.
“Now, let’s get you in bed. You are going to need some rest and recovery from all that tequila.” He reaches around you, opening the door and ushering you inside.
“Don’t be dramatic.” You roll your eyes.
“You had four shots.”
“Did not!”
“Yeah, and you did the fourth one off of Emily.”
“…Just bring me some Advil.”
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𝙲𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙴 𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁 #02
𝙸𝚃𝙴𝙼𝚂:
𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙲𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 ............. 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝
𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚕 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚕𝚎 ... 𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎
𝙼𝚊𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚕𝚎…. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙
𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 ..... 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙴𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐
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