virgin!dex who writes you love letters that are all fluff at the beginning but quickly descend into filthy description of his desires. safe to say none of the letters were sent.
virgin!dex who burns from the inside out ever since you guys met and he couldn't really put the name on that feeling. but once he feels the growing tent in his pants at the very thought of you, he knows for sure.
virgin!dex who has wet dreams about you, waking up in the middle of the night all sweaty and with a sticky mess in his briefs.
virgin!dex who palms himself slowly through his shorts whenever he's on the phone with you, breath hitching as he bites his lips raw to not let out a pathetic whimper, while you continue rambling about your day absolutely unsuspecting.
virgin!dex who uses his FBI connections to stalk you on social media and such. accidentally finds your boudoir photoshoot and explodes internally.
virgin!dex who finds analog pictures from said photoshoot at your apartment when you invite him over for movie night. usually he's not fond of stealing, but tonight is a special occasion, so he takes one. one wouldn't hurt, right? you won't even notice.
virgin!dex who tucks the stolen picture in his wallet later, but not before he gave it a spritz of perfume he bought earlier.
virgin!dex who frantically shaves every time you hang out just in case.
virgin!dex who watches tutorials on fingering, practising on the orange. his poor fingers after that…
virgin!dex who struggles with anorgasmia because of his meds but somehow the feeling of your soft walls around him instead of his hand works wonders.
virgin!dex who moans so loud he gets a noise complaint from the neighbors later.
warnings -> ummm u need to pee and he makes u hold it? idk if that’s piss kink rly. squirting, penetration, slight headlock position
i deny all piss kink allegations!……however ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১
“i need to pee,” you interrupted, moving to stand — but his arm tightened around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer, pressing your back to his chest.
“dex. i need to pee.”
he hummed in understanding, arm not loosening, jaw nuzzled perfectly into the crook of your need.
“how bad?”
you squirmed.
“so bad, get off.” you groaned, pushing at his arms but he just used the arm you were led on to wrap around your front — essentially a headlock, but too loose to be restrict any air — sliding his nose over the shell of your ear.
“you can hold it for me, right?” he whispered, a shiver going down your spine as you felt the heaviness of your bladder. his left hand slid down your stomach, into your shorts.
“right?” he pressed, arm finally wrapping around your neck to jostle you a little.
“y-yeah. i can hold it.” you mumbled, feeling his hand slide through your slick folds, pressing your clit with a pressure that made your head spin.
dex tightened his arm around you before drawing maddeningly slow figure eights on your clit, soft sighs leaving your lips. a certain stroke made your bladder flutter, threatening to almost.
you whined, pushing at his arm. “dex, seriously. please, i need to pee.”
he scoffed. “hold it.” he demanded, rougher this time, pressing you into his chest as his fingers sped. “c’mon, don’t make a mess. you can hold it for me, can’t you?” he cooed mockingly, kissing up your neck and jaw. his middle and ring finger slipped in, making your jaw drop with a soft mewl, nuzzling into the crook of his arm.
but they slipped out quick as they did in, hands moving to push down your shorts and his boxers.
“dex—“ he shushed you with another jostle, sliding his tip through your folds before notching into your entrance, sliding in with ease that made a soft noise fall from you and a deep groan from him. he hooked your leg over his, digging his heels into the mattress before setting a steady pace that made you want to cry.
with every deep, steady roll of his hips, you could feel the mushroom tip of his cock jostling the heaviness of your bladder. you whined with a squirm, feeling it quiver as you bucked your hips.
“i know baby, need to go so bad, don’t you?” he pressed on your lower abdomen. you shivered, pee threatening as tears gathered along your waterline with a desperate nod.
“fuck, can feel you holding it in, baby. squeezin’ me so fucking tight. doin’ so good for me.” he growled, pressing down on your stomach in a way that had your bladder wobbling.
you cried, gasping as you clenched harder around him, his arm clamped firmly around your neck, cheek smushed against his bicep.
“dex, pleasepleasepleaseplease. ‘m gonna pee.” you pleaded desperately, nails digging into his arm.
he shook his head, kissing your jaw and then cheek. “hold it just a little longer okay? then you can go.” he huffed, hand relieving you of momentary pressure to grab your hip, chasing his own high.
you panted, pleasure tickling up your spine with a shudder. your cunt fluttered around his thick cock, drool coating his bicep. his hand left your hip to press against your throbbing clit.
“you’re so close, sweetheart. i know, come on. you can let go.” he coaxed, eyes never leaving your flushed and scrunched up face.
with another wobble of your bladder you couldn’t take it anymore, going over the edge with a sob that was part relief and part humiliation — a sound that made dex’s cock swell — clenching around him desperately as you finished all over his thighs and the sheets, vaguely hearing his hushed coos and the feeling of his warmth filling you.
“look at that, baby. made such a messy for me. dirty girl.”
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlist
words: 4.3+
warnings/tags: jareau!reader, JJ's older sister, she does not work at the BAU, i don't think anything else so please enjoy
summary: Eventually the team finds out Spencer has been talking with JJ's sister and has a date with her, then months later they finally get to meet her
a/n i need to start being consistent on my posting lowkey like i meant to post this DAYS ago but anyway if you like please leave a comment i love reading ur guy's comments i enjoy them so much, and please enjoy!
It all started with a normal day at the BAU office. Hotch and Rossi arrived early before the team, as did Emily and Spencer. Morgan and Garcia arrived exactly on time, chatting and giggling over something random. Everyone made their morning coffee, Morgan made sure to tease Spencer for the amount of sugar in his as per usual. Paperwork was filled, the usual banter was shared, and overall it was a normal day.
Except for the elephant in the room. Spencer had been oddly cheerful the past few days, and no one could understand why.
They tried doing what they do best, profiling, but even then it was hard to figure out. To any of their knowledge no crazy scientific discovery had been made, at least not one that would make him happy for that long. Nor was there a new doctor on Dr. Who, or a new science fiction adaptation being made. They ruled out anything personal already, since Garcia had stalked all of his family and friends, and none of them had anything exciting going on.
The only thing they knew for sure was that everyday during his lunch break Spencer would get a call, and opt to take it in the break room. The team tried spying on him in there, but were only able to be successful once, because since then they'd been met with a closed blind.
The curiosity was weighing on them. They knew Spencer knew they were on to him ever since the blinds in the break room started being shut, and Spencer hid his phone more often.
It was only a matter of time before one of them broke. They'd already gone insane enough to start betting on it. Emily put down twenty bucks that he'd reconnected with an old friend, Penelope jokingly betted he was getting a puppy, and Morgan had his bet on him having a secret girlfriend. They mostly doubted Morgan, as they believed there was no way Spencer would randomly get a girlfriend, and then not tell the team.
He told them what colors of socks he had on, what book he was reading, and even the species of bird he passed by on the way to work. There was no way Spencer Reid, the man who never stopped rambling, could hide a secret girlfriend.
Morgan just defended his bet by, in his words, saying, "I call him pretty boy for a reason, kid's got game when he wants to."
It had now been two weeks since the usually chipper mood and randomly scheduled phone calls started. The team was on the edge of their seats. They'd decided that morning that when Spencer walked in they'd corner him till he gave them answers.
Was that an HR violation? Definitely. But, when you survive the horrors of working at the BAU everyone is more of a family than just co-workers.
The team, consisting of Emily, Derek, JJ, and Penelope, gathered around the front of the office, waiting for Spencer. Rossi had opted out of the plan, and instead was watching from the safety of his office, while Hotch had no clue about anything that was happening.
When the elevator bell dinged the team stayed put, watching as Spencer walked out. He paid them no mind as he entered the office making his way to his desk. They slowly followed behind, careful not to alert him of their presence. Spencer put down his bag and coffee cup as he turned on his computer. Once he was ready to work, he looked up from his desk to see most of his team surrounding it.
"Can I help you?" he asked, all amused, half concerned.
"Spill it, wonder boy," Garcia said, pointing a fluffy pen at him.
"Spill what?" he questioned, as if he didn't know exactly what they meant. He was aware of his behavior and how the team was snoopy, but he tried his best.
"Don't play coy with us, pretty boy," Morgan told him, crossing his arms.
"We know there's something going on with you," Emily said, less accusatory, and more of as some wanting to know what was going on with their friend.
"There's nothing going on," Spencer told them, lying through his teeth.
"You've had strange phone calls for two weeks now, and have been oddly happy," JJ pointed out.
"We're happy for you about whatever it is," Emily said, plastering her signature Emily smile on her face, "we just want to know what to be happy for."
Spencer looked away for a moment before looking back at his team.
"I just don't see how it's any of your business."
"Because we're your friends," Penelope told him, "and I really, really, really want to know what's got that smile stuck to your face."
Penelope reached a hand out, as if to touch the smile on Spencer's face. He slowly moved back, keeping distance from her hand as she retreated.
"That's nice, but I don't have to tell you guys everything that's happening in my life," Spencer told them, only mildly annoyed by their failed ambush.
"But-" Penelope started before being cut off.
"He's not going to tell us and we should respect that," Emily told the team as she walked away from Spencer's desk.
"Alright," Penelope let out with a sigh as she followed Emily.
Morgan followed after her, leaving only JJ at Spencer's desk.
"I'm sorry we ambushed you," JJ apologized, "I hope you know we only had good intentions."
Spencer looked up from his work, "I know, it's just... it's personal," he admitted to her, looking rather nervous, unlike before.
"I get that, and when you're ready to tell us we'll be here to listen," JJ told him, about to leave his desk like the others, when his voice stopped her.
"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to tell one person," Spencer voiced, looking at the ground as he tapped his leg with a pencil.
JJ turned around, looking at him, "I'm all ears," she said, secretly excited to know Spencer Reid's big secret.
Spencer was silent for a moment, as if debated whether or not he still wanted to tell her his secret or not. Eventually, he made his decision and immediately blurted it out, so he wouldn't lose confidence.
"I really like your sister," he admitted, now lifting his head up to look at her.
JJ just blinked at him, before uttering, "What?"
"When we first met we exchanged numbers," Spencer stammered out, "and then we kept calling, and I told her it was okay for her to call me at working during my lunch break, and then we called and talked every single day, and when I'm not at work I spend most of my day talking to her, and even when I am at working, most of my time is spent thinking about her, and now we have plans to get dinner and see a movie when she's back in town on Friday and-"
Spencer kept rambling as JJ tried to process everything. Morgan was right Spencer had a secret partner, but what was even more shocking was that it was JJ's very own older sister.
"My sister!" JJ exclaimed a little too loudly, catching the team's attention.
"Yeah," Spencer said, his voice getting softer as he sunk into his chair, "I hope you're not mad at me. I promise I'd never hurt her and have no intention to. I really care about her, and I love talking to her, and I love listening to her, and-"
Spencer started to ramble again, but now the team had made their way back over, and had gotten involved.
"Woah, what are you talking about, pretty boy?" Morgan questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm going out on a date next Friday," Spencer confessed, making Morgan just about start to celebrate, before adding, "with JJ's sister."
"Oh, no," Penelope blurted out as Morgan quickly stopped his celebration.
They all turned to look at JJ who was frozen in shock.
"When did you two even meet?" she questioned, racking her brain for possible overlaps between you two.
"I had to drop off some case files at your house about a month ago," Spencer began, "but you weren't home, and instead your sister answered the door. I planned to just drop off the files, but Henry really wanted me to go inside to play with him. She let me in and we just got to talking. She gave me her number before I left, and then I called her later that night."
Spencer explained the story of how you met with a smile and small blush on his face, as he fidgeted with his hands. He loved thinking about how you two first met. How sweet you were to Henry as you played with his action figures with him, while also cracking jokes that made Spencer laugh, and the references you made that Spencer immediately understood. He hadn't even noticed he'd spent two hours with you till he looked at his watch. But truthfully, it was probably the best two hours of his life.
"I can't believe I didn't know about this," JJ thought out loud. She wasn't necessarily mad about this, more shocked than anything. Spencer was like a brother to her, and you were her older sister that she looked up to. You might've been the exact opposite of her in some ways, but she never would've expected for this to happen. But, that's not to say she didn't approve of it.
"My man, my man," Morgan said, giving Spencer a pat on the back, "I always knew you had it in you."
"Is she pretty?" Garcia asked, unable to help herself as she bounced on her feet.
"She's JJ's sister, of course she is," Emily told her before Spencer could answer.
He probably wouldn't have anyway. He was too caught up thinking about how pretty you looked for those two hours. He was sure his eyes never left your face, as he pictured you perfectly in his mind, thanks to his eidetic memory.
"Look at him, he looks like Rudolph's cousin," Morgan teased, as Spencer unknowingly was turning bright red.
"Don't you guys have work to do?" Spencer said, unable to take the smile off his face.
The team just groaned, murmuring various things as they dispersed. Spencer felt a weight off his shoulders now that the team knew, and that he seemed to have JJ's approval. He was mostly just glad she didn't toss him out a window.
"You break her heart and you won't know what hit you," JJ threatened, saying the typical sister line to Spencer.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
***
It had been months now since your first date with Spencer. That date then turned into a second date, which became a third, then a fourth, then you became his girlfriend officially. Whenever you were in town, which was more often now, you even stayed with Spencer instead of your sister's. You didn't live too far yourself, but it was still a drive to where Spencer and your sister lived, so you only did it on the weekends, usually because of how often you wanted to see Spencer.
He was the most perfect boyfriend ever. He paid attention to every little thing. He knew how much you liked music, especially The Smiths and The Cure, so he made sure to keep vinyl records for you to play when you were at his apartment. He also started to wear your favorite cardigan of his more throughout the week, so that when you visited on the weekends and inevitably stole borrowed it, it would smell just like him just for you.
Each month he remembered the anniversary of when you met, and found it mandatory to get you something each month. He bought you new jewelry each time, each with a new special message or meaning to it. He also made sure each one was presented to you with your favorite flowers from your favorite local florist, and your favorite chocolate.
The team had witnessed his relationship from the outside. They noticed how his weekends were mostly spent with you. They noticed how somehow he'd gotten even happier. Even after a tough case he was feeling better quicker, since he either got to talk to you right after, or come home to you and lay in your arms.
The team had never met you before somehow. You visited JJ regularly even before Spencer, but you never had a reason to meet her team. And now that you were with Spencer walking into the restaurant to meet his team.
They had a rather difficult case a couple days ago, and to help lighten the mood, they'd agreed to all meet up for dinner. Spencer decided it was time for you to meet the team since they'd constantly been asking about you. His request was met with no decline, and even made Garcia squeal when she heard she would finally get to meet you.
Even before you became Spencer's girlfriend, the team always had a vague interest in you. You were JJ's mysterious older sister. JJ would mention you offhandedly, and only when the topic regarded you, but she never brought you up randomly. She chose to keep most of her personal life to herself, which included you.
You were nervous getting ready, and on the drive there, and even when Spencer held your hand, reassuring you that the team would love you. Those nerves stayed even when you followed him over to a giant table full of people.
Spencer greeted his team, pulling out a chair for you before sitting down himself. The team immediately turned towards you.
"So you must be the famous Jareau we've been hearing about," the person to Spencer's left said, "I'm Derek Morgan."
He introduced himself as the rest of the team started to go around, doing the same.
"I'm Penelope, I've heard so much about you," she introduced, unable to contain her excitement, making you smile.
"Emily Prentiss," she said with a small smile.
"Aaron Hotchner, but you can just call me Hotch," he introduced, sounding very stern, but not in a bad way. He was everything Spencer had said about.
"David Rossi,' he greeted.
"I would hope you know my name," your sister joked as she sat to your right.
You laughed at her joke, starting to make conversation with the team. You heard about old cases, inside jokes that the team would explain to you through fits of laughter, and even the time where Morgan kept pulling Spencer's chair out from under him during one of their stupid prank wars.
"That was so unfair," Spencer argued through laughter, "you would be nowhere in sight and yet somehow you still pulled my chair."
"I watched him dash out of my office just to do that," JJ added while laughing.
"It's only fair," Morgan argued, "you made everything on my computer screen only be on the left side for like a week."
"It was not a week," Spencer retorted, "and you got Garcia to fix it."
"After he begged me to," Garcia added, noting how Morgan had to offer her a week's worth of coffee for her to fix it.
"I still can't believe you were on his side, baby girl," Morgan said, looking at Garcia as he shook his head.
"You stole his book, of course I was on his side."
"He was reading Pride and Prejudice," Morgan argued, "who reads Pride and Prejudice."
When hearing the title of the book, you slowly turned your head to your boyfriend, who already seemed to know what was about to happen.
"Pride and Prejudice, like the one you borrowed from me, and have been saying you keep forgetting at the office," you pointed out, not actually mad, instead finding it funny that he'd been getting back at Morgan, all for stealing your book.
"Technically, it is at the office," he said, "I just don't know where."
"uh, huh," you said, nodding your head skeptically, toying with him.
"It's true," he defended, his voice getting higher in the way it usually did when he was trying to defend himself against your playful banter, "I've looked through the entire office and I can't find it."
"Clearly not the entire office," you teased.
While the two of you bantered, the team watched in silence. They noticed how you didn't notice their sudden silence, and also the smiles on both of your faces that wouldn't seem to be going away anytime soon. Morgan eventually took it upon himself to break the silence that had fallen over the team.
"We've said a lot about ourselves tonight," Morgan started, "but what about you two?"
"What about us?" Spencer said, his gaze snapping from you to Morgan.
"How'd you two meet?" Morgan asked, starting simple.
Spencer knew he'd already told his team, but before he could say anything he let it go as he saw the gleam in your eye.
"I was actually babysitting Henry when..." you started to explain. Spencer spoke alongside you, filling in the gaps that he remembered so vividly. He was more than happy to retell the story of how you met over and over again.
"And then he just asked me out," you finished, having explained the entire story of how you met up to your first date.
"Where'd you guys go for your first date?" Penelope questioned, giggling over her wine.
"A theater was doing a marathon of all the Star Wars movies, and I had an extra ticket," Spencer told them with a shrug, knowing they'd find it nerdy, yet very him.
"Oh, god," JJ groaned playfully, titling her head back.
At the same time Emily said, "And you wanted to go to that?" to you.
"Yes," you exclaimed, ready to jump out of your seat, "I love Star Wars."
"Please don't get her started," JJ pleaded, "she used to make me watch every single movie on repeat for a day straight."
"It was only like once, or twice," you argued.
"It was multiple times," your sister argued, "and now you have Henry obsessed with it too."
"As he should be," you retorted. It was nice to banter with your sister and your boyfriend and people you could tell they cared about. Dinner was better than you'd ever expected, and it made you forget all about your nerves.
"That is a nice necklace," Emily blurted out before apologizing.
"It's fine, and thank you," you told her, your hand automatically going for the necklace that was pressing against your skin.
"Is that Tiffany?" Penelope questioned, leaning closer to look at it.
Of course, if anyone were to notice the brand it would be Penelope. You knew the necklace cost a pretty penny, even if Spencer wouldn't tell you exactly how much. You glanced over at him slightly, his face already flushed.
"It is," you said, messing with the two heart pendants, one silver, one the iconic blue, as they sat on the small silver chain around your neck.
"That's a six hundred dollar necklace," Penelope said, her face aghast.
"Since when did you have the money for a six hundred dollar necklace?" your sister said, already skeptical.
"I don't," you admitted.
"I see," JJ said, now turning her gaze to her boyfriend, "you really know the way to her heart," she teased.
You felt your face heat up at her words. You knew she was right. With all the perfectly planned dates, all the beautiful jewelry that you loved so dearly, and with how sweet he was about everything, it was as if he had a manual on exactly what to do to make you happy and fall for him even more.
"It's not that crazy," Spencer said, stumbling over his words, "besides that's not even the most expensive," he tried to defend, only digging himself into a deeper hole.
Penelope gasped, "You are one lucky girl," she told you, smiling at you.
"I know," you said, unable to take the smile off your face, as you played with the pendent in your hands.
Eventually your food arrived and the conversation lessened. The occasional antidote was shared, or someone made a playful jab at the other. It seemed that the team had accepted you and enjoyed having you around. Spencer was clearly having a great time, especially since you'd gotten along so well with the team. Your sister no doubt felt the same way too, happy to see the people she cared about most and the person she cared about most get along.
Dinner had ended, and Rossi refused to let anyone else pay for dinner, saying that it was his treat. Everyone did decide to chip in on the tip though, too kind to let Rossi pay for everything.
Everyone said their goodbyes outside of the restaurant, most of them asking when they'd see you again. You were saying your final goodbyes before Hotch started to speak to you.
"I hope to see you at the next team gathering," he told you, nodding his head.
"I hope to be invited," you told him, really wanting to see the team again soon.
"No doubt you will," he said, not before adding, "you're good for him, you know."
You shrug as you said, "I guess," knowing that he too had been good for you.
"He's been a lot happier since you came into his life," Hotch told you, which from what you'd gathered about him, seemed to be the best possible thing he could say.
You looked over at your boyfriend who was busy getting teased by Morgan, while having the largest smile on his face.
"It's nice to see him so happy," you told Hotch before finally saying goodbye.
You and Spencer separated from the group for the night, making your way back to the car. Spencer opened the door for you before going to the driver's side. He started the car, pulling out of the parking lot, before taking your hand in his, resting them on the center console.
"I think the team really liked me," you said, breaking the quiet silence of the night.
"I told you they would," he said with a smile.
"I think your boss gave me his seal of approval," you joked.
"Hotch?'
"Yeah, he thinks I'm good for you," you told him.
"You are," Spencer said, his voice low, as he raised your joined hands, leaving a small kiss on the back of your hand.
You were content with how things had gone and the car ride home with Spencer. You'd gotten used to calling Spencer's apartment home, when just a few months ago you'd never even stepped foot in it. It was nice how things had changed. Everything about Spencer really had made your life a lot better.
The car was quiet as you enjoyed the nice view outside. Spencer parked the car, pulling out the key, about to leave the car when you stopped him.
"Wait," you said, grabbing something out of your bag.
He listened, waiting for you to do whatever you were going to do. You took out a pen, scribbling something small onto his hand. He kept your hands conjoined as he lifted them up to look at what you drew. On his hand you had written, 'u + me = <3" and even added the word forever, underlined multiple times under it.
"What made you think of this?" your boyfriend asked, smiling at you.
You shrug, "I don't know, I just thought it'd be cute," you told him.
"I love it," he said, a sparkle in his eye as he leaned closer to you, "and I love you."
"I love you too," you said back as he captured your lips with his, still holding your hand.
***
Bonus:
"Who are you texting?"
The sound of a voice broke your trance as someone entered the kitchen. You looked up to see your sister starting to make breakfast for her kid.
"No one," you quickly responded, lying through your teeth.
"And this no one just has you smiling and giggling at eight in the morning," your sister said skeptically, knowing you all too well.
"I can smile and be happy at 8am if I want to be," you argued back.
"Maybe when it's Christmas, not a random Tuesday."
You just rolled your eyes at your sister, looking back at your phone to see if he had texted you back.
You could hear your sister let out a sigh from across the kitchen.
"Yes, mom?" you joked.
"Whatever this is," she said, pointing a finger at you, "just take it slow this time."
You rolled your eyes again, "Even if it was that, which it's not," you said, blatantly lying, "I've learned my lesson by now."
"You better have, I don't need to give you another lecture on standards, do I?"
"That was once and I know it was a bad decision," you defended, your sister referencing the time you went back to an old ex in the middle of the night, which was definitely a bad idea, "besides, shouldn't I be the one giving you advice."
"And yet, only one of us is married."
"You're hilarious, you know that," you deadpanned.
"I know I am," she said, "and even though it's not that, just know I'm rooting for you."
"Are you?" you questioned as she retreated further into the house to get ready for work.
Once she was gone you looked back down at your phone to see that he had responded. He had confirmed your date in two weeks that you couldn't have been happier about. Today you left your sister's to go back home, but now you'd be counting down the days till you got to return, and see him again.
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlis
words: 2.5k+
warnings/tags: fluff, season2!spencer, glasses!spencer, hotchner!reader, basically love at first sight for reader, minor stalking
summary: one night while you're bored in bed you decide to look up your dad's newest agent and decide that you have to make a move on him
a/n this was so cute to write, im lowkey tired though, also i gotta take a break from the angst at the moment, but it will be back i promise, im not done with begged either
"Who's that?"
At your question your dad turned out, facing the bullpen. You watched as he followed your line of sight to one of his agents working at his desk. He'd been working at the BAU for a little while now, but to you he was new.
You were visiting your dad, Aaron Hotchner, after having graduated with your master's degree. You'd been too busy with school to visit your dad like you used to. So the moment he said he was free to have lunch with you in his office the same day you were in town you immediately accepted.
It was your normal lunch with your dad. He asked how school was, told you about cases, and questioned you about what your future held for you. What you hadn't expected though was to see an agent who looked way too young to be at the BAU. He looked about your age, yet wore the clothes of someone's grandpa. Although you did have to admit his sweater vests did look quite cute.
"Dr. Spencer Reid," your dad told you, "he's our expert on just about anything."
You looked over at him one more time, studying him. He was clearly focused on something, not noticing the conversation that was taking place right outside Hotch's office, above where he was reading a file at his desk.
"He looks way too young to be a Dr.," you thought out loud.
"He's your age actually," Hotch said, "has three doctorates, and just as many bachelor's."
To say your jaw was on the floor would be an understatement. How did someone who looked like they'd still be able to order off the kid's menu have several degrees?
"So what you're saying is I'm a lazy, good for nothing, idiotic, loser," you joked.
"I didn't say anything even close to that," he said, already knowing your teasing antics after years of being a victim of them.
"You implied it when you said he was my age."
"I only said he was your age because you said he looked too young to be a Dr."
"He does," you stated, your voice a little louder than intended, making a couple people's heads turn your way.
Once they looked away your dad spoke again.
"I have to get back to work, and you have a future to figure out," he told you.
You made a face at him, "Don't remind me," you said, having spent all week doing job interviews and using whatever connections you had made with people in college.
"I'll see you at home," your dad told you before retreating back into his office.
You knew your way out of the place, having been there multiple times before. As you walked between the desks in the bullpen you noticed a certain person's head lift up. You made eye contact before he swiftly turned away and you kept walking towards the glass door. You couldn't help but smile at the fact that he took a moment to notice you.
In that split second you took in his nerdy, yet cute, glasses that framed his face. Alongside his soft looking hair that sat perfectly, and his meek expression as he no doubt tried to analyze whatever he could about you in that moment.
That was the thing about profilers: they were always studying people by how they walked, or talked, or even breathed. He probably figured out something about you you wouldn't even have been able to figure out in the brief second he saw you.
Dr. Spencer Reid, you kept repeating to yourself. It was as if you were trying to engrain it into your brain so you wouldn't forget it. There was something about him you just needed to know.
You tried not to give into your urges. But after thinking about him on the drive home, then at dinner, then while you were trying to fill out a job application, and even as you were laying down in your comfy bed, you inevitably gave up. He was consuming your every thought and you eventually had to cave into the hunger.
You took out your laptop, quickly looking up his name. He had multiple doctorates, no doubt it'd be easy to find at least something about him.
What you found though was more than you expected. There were multiple of his papers, all of which you read through, hanging onto almost every detail. There were countless articles, some about him himself, and some about his work at the BAU.
You couldn't find any socials. You assumed he must've been very introverted by the way he looked and his lack of online presence. After doing a little bit of digging—which was actually at least two hours worth—you managed to find the social media of one Penelope Garcia. You knew she was the technical analyst for the BAU, and with her bubbly personality probably loved to make the fun occasional posts.
Lucky for you, one of those fun occasional posts included a picture of Spencer. He was taking a sip of coffee while Garcia must've sneakily taken the photo of him.
He looked quite cute when he had no clue anyone was looking. If you hadn't seen him with your own eyes you might've assumed he was something you made up.
To be fair, he didn't sound real on paper.
A genius. Correction, a cute genius. Who had multiple degrees in subjects you could barely wrap your head around, who was working a real job saving people. Not even to mention seemed shy, yet could no doubt probably talk your ear off with facts you never in a million years would've known.
He seemed like a guy you'd dream up after a horrific break up. Not someone that existed. And even crazier, was a possibility for you.
You flopped down onto your mattress, imagining it. He probably enjoyed trips to the bookstore, and small coffee shops, and walks in the middle of autumn as the crunchy orange leaves fell to the ground. He probably loved long talks, and you could imagine admiring him as he explained topics he was passionate about.
The more you imagined him the more he seemed like an angel on the walls of Versailles. Irrevocably beautiful, and impossible to ever even fathom wanting to look away from.
You fell asleep that night thinking and daydreaming of him, scheming up a plan to talk to him.
Luckily for you, that plan was able to be put into action only two weeks later. Your dad had offered to have lunch in his office again to make up for missing dinner due to a case. Normally you'd be sad he missed your original plan, but you couldn't have been happier now about it.
Your plan was exceedingly simple, only requiring the perfect timing. Your dad told you to arrive around one in the afternoon. You knew he had a meeting from noon till then, meaning there was a window in which you could arrive early and be unable to enter your dad's office. You decided to take advantage of this to try and talk to Spencer.
The only flaw was that you had no clue how you'd approach him. He knew you'd been to the BAU before, having seen you there, so you couldn't lie and say you were lost. He probably wouldn't approach you first, and you didn't want to interrupt him while working. You were going to have to go with the flow and hope for the best.
You walked out of the elevator, clipping on your visitor's pass. You opened up the glass door, taking in a deep breath before stepping in. You had arrived at 12:30, hoping that was enough time to run your scheme before your dad invited you in for lunch.
The bullpen was busy with agents doing paperwork, or talking to others about something work related. You stood in the middle of it pretending to check your watch as if having accidentally arrived just a little too early. You looked through your dad's window, seeing he in fact was in a meeting. You now just had to figure out how to make your way to the cute nerd's desk.
Divine forces must've been working with you that day as a familiar person headed towards you.
"And to what do we owe this visit?" Derek Morgan said, now standing in front of you.
"I was supposed to be having lunch with my dad, but I guess he's busy at the moment," you told him, unable to not notice the way a certain agent's ears seemed to prick up.
"Well I guess that means you're stuck with us."
"Last time that happened we broke a printer, and got banned from Garcia's lair," you reminded him.
"Which is why," he started to say, pointing at you and someone else behind you, "I'm putting you in capable hands."
If you could give up your first born to whatever was making you this lucky you would. You looked behind you as he pointed to Spencer who quickly ducked his head to avoid your gaze.
"So you're giving me a babysitter?" you teased.
"No, I'm introducing you to someone who hopefully won't help you cause property damage," he said, walking you closer to Spencer's desk.
"You say that as if you weren't the one to help me."
"Not the point."
Morgan walked up to Spencer's desk, gaining his attention. Spencer's eyes flicked between you and Morgan through his glasses.
"Pretty boy," he greeted, and you immediately knew he lived up to the nickname, "I don't suppose you've met Hotch's daughter."
"Uh, no," he replied, stammering as he stood up from his seat, "I didn't even know Hotch had a daughter to be fair."
He smoothed out his tie before giving you a small wave. You smiled at him, not expecting him to wave at you instead of shaking your hand.
"Boy genius doesn't do handshakes," Morgan told you.
You just nodded at him, waiting for Spencer to say something.
"It's nothing personal, it's just that with the number of pathogens passed through a handshake, it's actually safer to kiss," he rambled, his ears burning red.
"Interesting," you said, unable to help the smile on your face at his weird, yet fun fact. So far he was exactly as you had imagined him.
Morgan looked between you two for a moment. Sensing something he wasn't too sure what he was picking up on.
"Well, I'll leave you both to it," he said before turning around, leaving you with Spencer.
Your plan had worked way better than you ever expected it to. You introduced yourself to him as he did the same, even though you already knew who he was. You knew more about him then he probably assumed you had. He introduced himself as Dr. Reid, making it easier for you to bring up your next topic.
"Dr.?" you questioned, pretending to be shocked, "no offense but you look kind of young to be a Dr."
He looked down at the floor before speaking, "I get that a lot."
"Well what are you a Dr. in?"
"Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering," he answered, sitting back down in his chair.
You stole a chair from an empty desk, placing it in front of his desk. You leaned forward, resting your chin on your head, fully interested in whatever he had to say.
"And here I thought my master's was impressive," you teased.
"N-no, it is," he stumbled, "any academic achievement is impressive. Only about 34% percent of the adult population in the United States has a bachelor's as their highest level of education. A master's degree is even less, with only about 13% of the adult population having one as their highest level of education."
You nodded along as he spoke. You weren't surprised he new statistics that perfectly applied to the conversation off the top of his head.
"So I guess you're in the top .0001% with your three degrees."
"Technically, I have three more, but their only bachelor's."
You playfully rolled your eyes, "Yeah, their only bachelors who would count them," you joked.
He smiled at you, a real honest smile that you wanted to kiss off his face. Usually you weren't one to fall for someone so quickly, but there was something about him you couldn't shake away.
"I have an eidetic memory," he admitted, intriguing you even more, "so it just makes it easier for me I guess."
"So you're a genius basically."
He stumbled over his words, a faint blush appearing on his face, "I wouldn't call myself a genius."
You once again nodded, liking how flustered he got.
"Well genius," you said, using the nickname against him, only making him turn redder, "where'd you go to school?"
"I went to Caltech."
"Really? I can't imagine you in orange."
"I wouldn't say it's my color, but the school's pretty great."
"I'd assume they’re a lot better than just pretty great if their teaching geniuses there."
He shook his head, "I never said I was a genius."
You sat up in your chair a bit, leaning a bit closer, "Give me any evidence as to why you're not a genius and why I shouldn't call you genius."
Spencer sat there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth multiple times.
"Exactly," you said, "you are a genius."
Before he could respond the door to your dad's office opened. Your expression dropped a bit since that meant your conversation with Spencer was over. You were having fun teasing him for being so smart and watching him get all flustered.
Someone walked out of your dad's office, making their way down the steps as he noticed you. He waved you into his office. You looked back at Spencer wanting to accomplish one more thing before leaving.
"I had fun talking with you," you told him, hoping he'd pick up the hint.
"I did too."
"It'd be nice to finish our conversation another time."
He nodded, looking down again, too nervous to look at you.
"Yeah, if whenever you're back, I'd love to continue talking, you're nice to talk to."
"I was thinking more like when you're not working," you admitted, knowing he was too hopeless to get the hint.
"Oh," he said.
"I assume you like to read," you said, looking at the stack of books on his desk.
"Just a little bit," he joked, smiling up at you.
"Good," you said, grabbing a sticky note off his desk, writing your number on it, "give me a call sometime, I'd love to go to the bookstore with you sometime if you want."
He nodded, taking the piece of paper from you, "Okay," he mumbled.
You got up from your chair, putting it back before turning towards him, "Bye, genius."
"Bye," he uttered, his voice low, as if still nervous to talk to you.
You couldn't help but feel giddy with how well your conversation had gone. It also didn't help that you were going to see him outside of his job at some point. Even worse you kept daydreaming about him, and thinking about how you just might drop dead if he kissed you after your date to the bookstore.
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlist
words: 4k+
warnings: fem!reader, drinking, swearing, throwing up, no specific season but lowkey boyband reid is who im imagining because i love that look, some lines follow the song cause i just had to its so peak
summary: After multiple failed dates and horrible guys and talk with JJ, Emily, and Penelope, you now have new expectations, that oddly sound like your co-worker
a/n im so tired and my head hurts please enjoy
"I think that guy was on drugs."
The three girls across from you looked up at you as you sat down in front of them. You placed your drink on the table, making yourself comfy in the booth your friends had claimed. They were nursing drinks of their own, and knowing them, gossiping to their heart's content.
"Which one?," Emily asked, looking over at the bar you were just at, "was it the blonde?"
You nodded your head taking a sip of your drink. You started to explain how he came up to you, spewing the usual round of bullshit guys said to you.
"Was he at least funny?" JJ joked.
"No, and when I rejected him he said I looked poor."
The three intoxicated girls all giggled at your words, making you slightly laugh too.
"You know, it's a new year, a new you," Penelope said, and immediately you knew she was going to give you some crazy advice, "and I think you should start that new you off with a new year's kiss."
You snorted at her suggestion, downing the rest of your drink.
"Wait, I thought you were still with that guy," JJ questioned, definitely not remembering his name.
You rolled your eyes, "No," you answered, "I blocked him."
"Wasn't he the one you were raving about like last week?" Emily asked.
You let out a sigh, "Unfortunately."
"Didn't he have the cool car and the big fancy apartment?" Penelope added, continuing to sip on her drink.
"He did," you said, nodding, "but, he also had intense mommy issues and I think he was a narcissist."
All three of them made a face, making you regret your decision even more.
"That's just a double homicide," Emily commented as she finished her drink, "I'll be right back."
She then got up and walked towards the bar to get another drink. You would've asked her to grab something for you if she hadn't walked off so fast, leaving you with just Penelope and JJ. You looked across the crappy dive bar to see Morgan being his usual self, talking to a group of random ladies. Hotch and Rossi had decided against going out with you guys and instead opted for an early night, retiring at the hotel. Spencer decided to spend some time with his mom before they had to return home, which the team respected.
"Who stands out to you the most?" one of the girls in front of you asked.
"What?" you said, entirely confused as the alcohol was starting to get to you.
"Well we have to get you a New Year's kiss," Penelope said, "so who here do you like the most."
"Why are you so set on me having someone to kiss?" you questioned, "what about yourself?"
Penelope just waved you off, "I already have my eyes set on someone," she said, making eyes at someone at the bar.
"Well good for you, but I'm not into that right now," you told her.
"Oh, come on," she whined, "there has to be at least one person here that you want to talk to."
You shook your head, "Nope, the guys here are just as bad, if not worse than the ones back home."
"But it's Vegas," she argued.
"Meaning?"
"You don't have to remember them and they don't have to remember you."
"That's comforting," you joked, "I just don't think my future husband's at this bar in Vegas."
JJ shrugged, "You never know, I mean I met Will in Louisiana, that's a long way from home."
You shook your head, "Yeah, but that was different, you didn't meet him in some trashy bar where he was drunk out of his mind like all the idiots here."
"Fair point," JJ said.
Penelope's face and shoulders dropped, no doubt annoyed by your lack of optimism, but before she could voice her feelings someone interrupted you guys. None of you had noticed, but Spencer had entered the bar and made his way over to your booth.
"Hey," he said meekly, confusing all of you as to why he was here.
"I thought you were with your mom," JJ said.
"I was, but she was having a bit of a rough night and I decided to join you guys and let her settle," he explained, picking at the strap of his satchel.
You looked up at him, feeling an ache in your heart for him. You knew about his relationship with his mother, and the guilt he felt for not visiting her often. You knew him having to leave her early was weighing on him. He looked over at you, taking in your appearance. Most of the time he saw you, you were in your work clothes, or something more casual when the team hung out outside of work. But, he'd never seen you in an outfit anywhere near what you were wearing now. You had on a rather flattering mini dress that Penelope had begged you to wear, since in her words, you only experience your twenties once. If your brain wasn't so fogged you would've swore Spencer's ears started to turn slightly red as he looked away from you.
"I'm gonna go talk to Morgan," he said, swiftly turning in the opposite direction.
You were opening Reid's appearance would change the subject, but immediately Garcia was back to her current mission.
"Alright, back to Operation: New Year's Kiss."
You rolled your eyes playfully, "That's still not happening."
"Come on, humour me here," she begged.
"You know this will be easier for you if you just give in," JJ told you.
"God, it's like bargaining with the devil," you complained.
"The devil might work hard, but I work harder," Penelope said giggling.
You just shook your head, hoping if you just played her game a bit she'd give up.
"Alright, so what are your standards?" Penelope asked, getting straight to the point.
"My what?" you questioned, already over this.
"Me personally I like them tall, sculpted, handsome," she said, listing her type, "and I love me some chocolate thunder."
"Garcia, I don't know what my type is," you told her honestly. You didn't dwell on your expectations that much, instead liking to decide on a person without narrowing your list down to a certain group.
"You have to have some sort of standards?" JJ said.
You shook your head, "Not usually."
"That's where your problem is, sweetheart," Garcia said, "you need some good ol' standards, and some high ones at that."
You let out a small laugh, "I don't have any clue what they would be."
"Start simple, what do you like from a person?" Penelope asked, watching you intently.
You thought about it for a moment. Obviously you had your basic standards, someone kind, someone nice, maybe funny if applicable, but never had you narrowed them down so thoroughly.
"I like someone nice," you said with a shrug.
Garcia just scoffed at you, "That's so basic, everyone deserves someone nice," she said, "don't you have a dream person in mind?"
You just shrug, running your finger around the rim of your empty glass. This conversation would be so much easier with a full drink.
"For example mine is-" Penelope started, but you cut her off before she could finish.
"If you describe Morgan one more time I'm going to chuck this glass against my head."
JJ let out a loud laugh at your threat, enjoying the banter between the two of you.
"Alright, alright," she mumbled, "you have to have something more specific than that."
"I don't know," you said with another shrug, "I want someone that treats me like a person, and calls me back, and shit," you admitted.
"That's a start, what else?"
You thought about it for another moment before answering, "I want someone that actually remembers my birthday, or the day we met, or even where we met."
The girls across from you leaned forward as you rambled on about more things you thought of.
"A guy with a real job would be great. I'm so tired of getting approached by these guys with some stupid "startup business" that's either just some scam, or ripoff of something that already exists. Or, those guys that say they're going to be the next Hemmingway or fucking Kurt Cobain. Do you know how many future "musicians" and "authors" I've met that act like they should be treated like some god," you spat out, getting more irritated the more you thought about all the things you hated.
"You ladies look like you could use some shots," Emily said, interrupting the conversation as she placed a tray of shots down. You had no hesitation drinking one of them and then another. You waited for the other to take, but JJ only took one and so did Emily. That left two that Penelope decided you could have. You knew you shouldn't be drinking that much, but tonight warranted it.
"So what'd I miss?" Emily asked, sitting down next to you.
"She's spilling her guts about her type," JJ said, pointing at you as you continued to speak.
"I want a guy that can actually decide things, you know. No, I actually don't want to pick where to eat, why can't you just pick? You should know my favorite places anyway, why's it so hard? You know what else I hate, I hate guys that hate what I like. Too bad you don't like my music, I like it. If I want to listen to fucking the Ramones, or The Smiths, or Fontaines D.C., or god forbid I want to listen to the entirety of Tick, Tick, Boom, then why shouldn't I, even if they don't like it?"
"What's that?" JJ and Emily asked, confused to the last thing you mentioned.
"It's a musical," Garcia whispered to them.
"Oh God, she's lost it," Emily murmured, watching you continue on your rant.
"Indecisive guys are just so unattractive. So are dumb guys, that's a standard of mine actually. I want a guy with a degree. Maybe even two. No, he has to have at least two actually, and a stable job," you said.
"Amen, to that," Emily said, raising her glass to you.
"I want a guy that wouldn't mind if I made more than him. Or, a guy that doesn't have wandering eyes. I want someone who doesn't coddle me, but can take care of me if I need him too. He shouldn't be afraid of me getting sick, or even going out and having a good time if I want to. And, I like a guy that reads a lot actually. And I'm just going to say it, I want a guy that's at least slightly nerdy."
Emily had been listening intently to what you liked, and a thought was starting to form in her head. She glanced at JJ and Penelope to see if they were picking up the same thing she was, but they were too busy paying attention to you.
"I want a guy that will watch all the Star Wars movies with me, or The Lord of the Rings, those are good movies. It'd be great if he didn't make fun of me for collecting comics I liked and call me a child and say I was collecting children's books," you exclaimed, thinking back to that one annoying guy that called your comic books childish, but thought modern art was the epitome of high art.
"What about looks?" Emily asked, trying to point you in the right direction to answer her suspicion.
You thought about it in record time, quickly diving into what looks you liked.
"Brown eyes are ten times better than blue, blue eyes freak me out. And blonde guys are pure evil, I like brunettes better anyway. Someone who dresses well would be great. Why would I want to walk out the house with someone who looks a mess?"
The more you kept talking the more Emily smiled as you proved her hypothesis correct. She couldn't wait to debrief this with JJ and Penelope, who she hoped were having the same thought as her.
"And is it bad to say I like a tall guy? And I don't mean some guy that's like 5'6 and swears he's tall and "basically" six feet. No, I want an actual tall, tall guy," you said, making the entire table try not to laugh, "also, glasses, glasses are so hot. I don't know why guys don't wear glasses. Contacts are a scam created by the government to make women not have hot nerdy guys with glasses, and LAISIK is part of that too."
You officially had your entire table in fits of giggles to the point their ribs hurt. Your drunken self was hilarious to them, especially when you talked about your expectations for a guy.
Once the three of them had finished laughing, and you'd calmed down a bit, Morgan came over to your table.
"Any of you fancy a game of darts?" he asked, already acting overconfident, "unless you're too scared to play me."
"In your dreams, I could beat you one handed," JJ said.
Everyone knew how good she was at darts and to not challenge her unless you wanted to be beaten.
"Don't get too overconfident," JJ said, standing up to leave the booth.
Penelope followed as she said, "When you lose don't come crying to me," to Morgan who slung his arm around her.
"I'll see you guys in a second. I'm gonna grab another drink," you said, heading back towards the bar.
"You sure that's a good idea?" Emily teased.
You waved her off, continuing to make your way to the bar. The second you left Emily looked at JJ and Penelope.
"Okay, am I crazy or was her type basically Reid?" she asked the other girls who immediately glowed at her words.
"I'm not the only one that thought that," Penelope exclaimed.
"I thought she was trying to tell us something with how exact her description was," JJ joked.
"So, what do we do with this information?" Emily asked, hoping they would pick up what she was putting down.
Penelope looked at her, giving her the classic Penelope look, "Are you saying we should play Cupid?"
"I'm not not saying that," Emily said, "besides you were the one that said she should get a kiss at midnight."
Penelope let out a squeal, excited by the thought of her two favorite people being together.
"We don't even know if he would be interested, and besides she's wasted and has no clue about anything," JJ pointed out.
"You're right," Emily admitted.
Penelope deflated a bit, "Yeah, but I mean whatever happens, happens, right?"
The other two girls agreed, deciding to move onto a new topic as they made their way over to watch JJ kick Morgan's ass at darts.
You weren't having as much fun as the other girls, as you didn't even make it to the bar before feeling like you had to throw up. You quickly darted to the bathroom, easily skipping the line by gagging multiple times on your way there. You threw yourself into the first available stall, puking your guts out. When you finished and walked out to wash your hands a girl asked if you were good to which you nodded. She offered to walk you out to your friends, but you declined, thanking her.
You quickly collected yourself, deciding to continue on your original task of getting another drink. You reached your limit and you were already way past it. Tonight was an exception though. You'd recently dumped that guy that you unfortunately actually kind of liked, and then you had to work a grueling case. Not even to mention that it was New Year's Eve and you were in some dingy Vegas bar, which basically meant you had to get insanely trashed.
You stumbled up to the bar ordering your drink. Before it was done, some random guy tried to say something to you, but you decided to ignore him. The second your drink was put on the bar you grabbed it, making your way over to your friends.
Some random song was playing that you could half hear as you pushed through a group of people. You watched as people joined in for a round of darts, and somehow you found yourself among them.
A round or two really wasn't going to hurt you. Usually you were pretty good sober, or at maximum a bit tipsy, so how bad could you be when you were basically completely gone. Turns out it was pretty bad. You managed to hit the wall once, and stumbled into random people multiple times. It didn't help that you felt a pair of eyes on you the entire time, but you couldn't fully blame your poor performance on that. When you almost hit someone during your last turn your dart privileges got taken away by Morgan for everyone's safety, including your own.
You went over by the wall where Penelope had been standing, rooting for JJ as she continued to win over and over again. You stood there for a bit before you realized your drink was completely empty. Deciding to get another one, you turned around quickly, accidentally knocking into someone.
You started to apologize when you looked up at who it was. He was apologizing too, making sure you didn't drop your glass as it tumbled out of your hands.
"Shit, sorry Spencer," you said, trying to gather your words, "I should've been paying attention."
"It's fine," he said, clearing his throat, "are you okay?"
"I'm fantastic, why?"
"You don't seem fantastic," he said, building up the courage to say his next words, "you're drinking more than normal and you've looked kind of sad all night."
"I'm just enjoying myself," you argued, not wanting him to know that deep down you wanted nothing more than to be home right now, wallowing in your own home, "I'm having fun, I promise."
Spencer looked down at you, his hand on your arm to keep you stable, "Please don't lie to me," he said, his voice as low as it could be over all the noise in the bar.
"I'm not-" you started to argue before getting cut off by yourself gagging again. You tried to hold it in, but instead turned to the nearest trash can puking your guts out again. Apparently, your body couldn't handle more alcohol than you'd already put in it.
You pulled your head out the trash can, groaning a bit. You felt hands let go of your hands as you lifted up your head. You fixed your hair a bit before turning around to see Spencer behind you.
"Let me take you back to the hotel, please," he said, his voice a bit desperate.
Sober you would've been disgusted for vomiting in front of him, and having him hold your hair back for you. Sober you would've also known immediately that he was just trying to help you, but drunk you had a very different mindset. You started to fight against his hold on you, but you were so weak you could barely move.
"I-I'm, f-fine," you tried to argue, but gave up.
"Come on," Spencer said, guiding you out of the bar. Usually, he would've told the team he was leaving and said goodbye, but right now he was too focused on you to care.
The next thing you knew you were in a taxi on the way back to the hotel. Before you could even blink you were through the lobby and at your door. Spencer was fumbling for your room key as he looked through your small purse.
"You have your key, right?" he asked, looking up at you.
You thought for a moment before shaking your head, "No, I gave it to JJ to give back to me."
Spencer's shoulders dropped as he tried to think. You were propped up against the wall, trying not to slide down it, or fall down in general. You hated being one of those stumbling drunk girls, yet here you were. Not in your right mind and locked out of your room.
"Here," Spencer said, guiding you a few doors down, "you can stay in my room till JJ gets back."
He unlocked the door, turning on the light as you stepped in. You groaned a bit, not used to the light. You felt hands on your arms, guiding you to the bed. You sat down, kicking off your shoes, wanting to go to sleep.
"Do you want something to change into?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous as he stumbled over his words.
You couldn't get yourself to speak, and instead resorted to just nodding. You could hear Spencer riffling around in his bag before pulling something out.
"I don't usually wear these, but I keep them just in case," he said, handing you some clothes.
You took them as he helped you stumble your way to the bathroom to change. You looked at what you were given, a pair of sweatpants that were too big for you, but were clearly old since they wouldn't have fit Spencer either. You assumed these were clothes he put in his bag eons ago and just never took out. The other article of clothing was an old sweater of his you hadn't seen him wear in years.
You threw on the too big clothes as you took the jacket you didn't realize had been placed on your shoulders. Spencer must've placed his blazer over you to keep you from freezing at some point. You smiled at how thoughtful he could be. You left your dress in the bathroom along with the blazer as you stepped out of the bathroom.
Spencer was sitting on the bed waiting for you to come out. He had a bottle of water in his hand that he offered to you. You drank some of it before laying down on the bed. Spencer swiftly shut off the lights for you.
"If you need anything just tell me," he said, his voice soft as he lowered himself to your level. You could feel one of his hands softly stroking your hair, soothing you a bit.
"Lay down with me, please?" you asked before you could even register your words.
"What?" Spencer said, flustered by your request.
"I don't want to fall asleep alone," you mumbled.
Spencer let out a sigh, "You're not thinking straight," he told you.
"Please," you begged, really not wanting to fall asleep alone. It was comforting knowing there was someone right next to you.
"Only until JJ gets back," he told you as you felt his hand leave your hair.
You tried to mumble an 'okay', but the words never left your lips. You felt the mattress dip to your right as Spencer laid down next to you. You turned over facing him, your eyes still shut. You were both still for a moment before you felt his hand reach your hair. You relaxed more at his touch, eventually falling asleep in Spencer's bed.
***
BONUS (because I'm so nice lol)
"Where'd {Name} go?" Penelope asked to no one in particular as she tried to look for you.
"I don't know, I thought she was with you?" JJ said as she walked over to Penelope, now done with her game of darts.
Morgan and Emily followed behind her, getting asked the same question immediately.
"Wasn't she standing with you?" he questioned, quickly scanning the bar for you.
Penelope shook her head, now asking the strangers within her vicinity.
"Hi, sorry, have you seen my friend?" she asked, starting to describe you. Unluckily, the people shook their heads. Emily and JJ did the same, but had the same misfortune.
Luckily though, before Penelope could panic too much, someone tapped her on her shoulder.
"Sorry, but were you looking for someone-" she asked, describing you perfectly.
"Yes, that's her, do you know where she is?" Penelope asked frantically.
"I saw her leave with some guy a little bit ago," she told them.
"Who?" Emily quickly asked, hoping you didn't leave with some sketchy guy.
"I don't know, but they looked like they knew each other," she told them, "he was pretty tall, brown hair I think, and he was dressed rather nice, he gave her his blazer before they left."
The entire team felt a weight lifted off their shoulders the second they knew it was Reid you left with.
"Thank you," JJ said as the girl left.
Just as quickly as they felt relieved they immediately realized what had happened.
"I didn't even realize Reid was gone," JJ said, slightly guilty she didn't notice.
Morgan shrugged, "His mind's been somewhere else all night, he wouldn't even notice when I left him to get a drink."
There was a beat of silence before Penelope finally said what they were all thinking.
"Are we just not going to mention the fact that they left together?"
"I mean there's many reasons for that," JJ suggested, not even buying her own words.
"But it’s a bit suspicious with everything she said," Emily added.
"What'd she say earlier," Morgan asked.
"She was describing her type earlier and basically described Reid," Emily told him.
Morgan's expression changed to one of shock, "Well, hopefully everything's going well," he joked, making everyone chuckle.
"Maybe she will get that New Year's kiss after all," Penelope said with a laugh.
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love masterlist
thinking about idol!jeongin falling in love at first sight meeting fan!reader. . .
first time he saw you wasn't when it was your turn to sit in front of him. the airtime before the fan sign had started, everyone was already seated, the staff just double checking if everything was good to go.
jeongin's eyes wandered through the crowd in front of the him, not looking for anyone in particular, merely just looking at their groups' fans to have something to do.
he was simply just browsing through the blur of faces, a few signs here and there, until he saw you.
jeongin didn't know what was different. only that he could feel some kind of aura around you that the other fans couldn't see or sense near you, a luminous ambience that only he could see.
you weren't looking at him. you seemed busy in your own world, trying to breath in properly 'cause you were nervous. he smiled when you turned and saw him staring back at you.
your face loaded for a second, before smiling back, waving calmly. he waved back. your grin was a little bit wider when he did it.
the fan sign continued, none of the fans here not knowing—not even his hyungs—that their maknae had a secret agenda now when he saw you, which was to get connected with you.
no matter how risky it was.
when you were finally sat on the table, he was itching to meet you.
he had been reviewing all the ways he could possibly flirt. that wouldn't be too obvious, right? it would just be him doing his duty as an idol to entertain their fans with fanservice.
except when it came to you, the fanservice was teetering a little bit to crossing over to real flirting.
"h-hi, jeongin." you bowed before sitting down.
"hi, there." his gaze followed your every move, smirking. "what's your name?"
you told him your name as you hand out your album to sign, jeongin making sure to graze your fingers a little, the sight of you visually short-circuiting when it happened forever ingrained in his memory for when he wants to smile.
"you have a really pretty face," he signed your album with practiced ease, opening the photobook to sign his photo in there as well, "pretty name too. you're lucky."
"i- hah. . .!" you chuckled awkwardly, flattered as you blinked and thanked him.
"what made you like our group, hm?" he asked, leaning in elbows on the table as he splayed his hands out for you. you stared at them a little confused, before you answer his question.
"i really liked your guys' music. it's pretty alternative to modern pop, so— oh."
feeling a sense of boldness run through him (and slight impatience that you didn't get the hint), he took both your hands in his. jeongin hummed, like this was normal.
jeongin had a sneaking suspicion that his hyung, seungmin, next to him was quite taken aback at his sudden love for skin ship, but he didn't pay him no mind.
not for the remainder of the fan sign, at least.
you held eye contact with him, but only for short periods of time. his smile and sharp gaze making it almost impossible for you to focus when it just made your brain all mushy.
he hummed at your unfinished reply, before asking another question. "you must have a bias then, right?"
"ah, yeah i do!" you say happily, unaware that you were waving your intertwined hands from the positive question.
"is it me?" his fingers squeezed yours a little, anticipating a 'yes'.
"ah, no. . ." you say sheepishly, jeongin letting out a dramatic sigh.
"it's actually bangchan, haha," you say, "sorry, innie-ah."
"too bad. . ." he pouted.
"it's 'cause i have a thing for older guys, yknow?" you try joking, but then he answers you with something you didn't know how to reply to.
"so you wouldn't date a younger guy?"
jeongin's thumbs started to caress the sides of your hands, the action turning your head all fuzzy. if you were calm enough (which you weren't until the end of the fan sign), you would have noticed his sly smirk, obviously flirting with you now.
"i— ha. . . i didn't say that," you smile, tilting your head down as he tries to catch you sight.
"would you not mind long distance relationships too?"
"uhm," you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze for a little while, more confused than shy, "n-not really, why?"
'you look really pretty flustered like this, y'know?', is jeongin really wants to say, but with seungmin (who you were talking to before him) starting to look really suspicious, he settles for:
"that's good, then we'd be perfect together."
the timer goes off, and with jeongin being the last member on the end of the table, you're forced to bow your goodbye and walk off, with jeongin's eyes following you until he's forced to interact with the fan in front of him, his smugness from the interaction still lingering.
you, who just exited the venue, had let out a sigh of relief? exhilaration? you aren't sure, but you know damn well your hearts beating really fast.
the hours pass after that, and once you make it home, you wind down and get ready for bed, the signed album and photobook still splayed out on your duvet.
you smile at the event, remembering all of the happenings with the other members, before recalling the last one. your fingers trace jeongin's signature.
looking at the photobook, you open it up and flip through it, looking at the messages that the members left you, you grin at each one, some telling you to eat while the others saying they'd love to see you again.
then, you see jeongins message for you, and your grin drops.
' you don't mind younger guys if it was me, right? call me soon, okay? ~ XXXX - XXX - XXX
— y.j ❤︎ '
it was messily written, giving you the impression that he did it quickly, so that no one could see in the photobook that fast. you scoffed in disbelief.
your heart jumped a few beats faster. there it was again. that feeling in your stomach. the odd pull.
you caress your thumb on the ink of the page, lost in thought.
the big question is; will you message, or will you ghost?
ugh skz not having mnl in their tour destinations is making my heart break 💔🥀anyways have some delusional jeongin imagine because i dont see enough about him being written ;D
Summary: you’d hoped one night might change things between you and Han but now you weren’t so sure.
Warnings: idk I tried to make it angsty but it has a happy ending so
Word count: 2k
a/n: okay this is my first ever writing piece ever so pls be kind cos ya gal has no idea how to format or ANYTHING
The music at the party was too loud. You could feel it reverberating in every bone, every muscle, every pore. Or maybe you just felt it more tonight because your chest wouldn’t stop hurting.
You didn’t know why you’d even come to the party. You weren’t particularly close to the host and you certainly weren’t in the right headspace for it, but you wanted a distraction. Anything to take your mind off of him.
So here you were, stood leaning against the kitchen counter, in a house you didn’t know, fingers wrapped around a plastic cup you hadn’t even taken a sip from yet. People were laughing around you, shouting over the music, dancing in the living room. Any other night, you would’ve been somewhere in the middle of it—dragging him along, both of you laughing until your sides hurt. But tonight you stood, locked in place.
Because Han Jisung was across the room, and you hadn’t spoken to him in eight days, since the night everything between you had changed.
It had started the same way it always did—late-night takeout, a stupid movie neither of you were paying attention to, Han sprawled across your couch complaining dramatically about the plot holes, you leaning against him.
At some point the laughter had quietened. The atmosphere had become charged, unlike the usual easy vibes that always surrounded you.
You don’t know if it was you or Han that had leaned in first but you’d ended up kissing. And somehow that kissing had turned into a night you couldn’t stop replaying in your head.
It hadn’t been rushed or careless. It had been soft. Careful. Like both of you knew the line you were crossing, but couldn’t stop. You had fallen asleep beside him, thinking maybe—just maybe—this meant something. You desperately wanted it to mean something.
But the next morning Han had been… different. Quiet. Awkward. And then he’d left. And after that? Silence. No calls. No texts. No late-night memes or voice notes or random “are you awake” messages like before. Nothing.
So yeah, you assumed he regretted it.
You shook your head back to the present and your gaze drifted across the room again despite yourself.
Han stood near the couch talking to a few people. His dark hair was messy like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He laughed at something someone said, that familiar bright smile flashing across his face. Your stomach twisted.
God, you missed him. You had never gone this long without speaking to him. From the moment you both had met in school when he had stolen your snack and rammed it into his already full cheeks. When you had stood in shock for a second and then burst out laughing, remarking on how much he resembled a quokka and he had smiled back, eyes glistening.
A girl stepped closer to him whilst you were watching. She was beautiful. Of course she was. Beautiful people always gravitated to Han. You watched as she leaned in—too close—touching his arm as she spoke. You couldn’t hear what she was saying, not with the music and the shouting, but you saw Han smile at her. You saw her laugh at whatever he said.
You could feel your eyes tearing up but you couldn’t look away. Not when he seemed so happy. Not when your heart was breaking so easily. But of course he was fine. Of course he’d moved on like nothing happened. Han was always that easygoing.
You don’t know how long you watched them chat and laugh but your eyes suddenly met his. You hadn’t expected him to look over and you felt your breath catch in your throat. You managed to finally tear your gaze away. But you had seen the change in his expression immediately—his smile faltering, eyes widening slightly. And he saw yours, too.
The heartbreak. The tears already falling before you could stop them.
You turned and pushed through the drunken crowd before he could say anything. You had to get out of here. You couldn’t breakdown in a house full of people you didn’t know. You couldn’t breakdown in front of Han.
“Hey—wait!”
Han’s voice cut through the music behind you. You were already halfway down the street, the cold night air hitting your face as your tears blurred everything. You could feel the chill in the night air and cursed yourself for not bringing a thicker jacket.
You heard the door to the party slam open behind you.
“Y/N!”
You walked faster. You couldn’t face him now. Not with your tears falling faster and your chest aching so badly. You knew it had been a mistake to come to this party.
Footsteps echoed briefly behind and you panicked, until voices interrupted.
“Han! Bro, wait a second—”
“Dude, where are you going?”
“Come take a shot!”
And then a distinctly feminine one.
“Hannie! Where are you going? You promised me a dance!”
You didn’t stop and you didn’t turn around. You just rushed into the darkness, hoping to leave the night behind you.
By the time you reached your flat, you were crying so hard you could barely see the keys in your hand. You barely managed to get the door closed before the sobs broke loose completely.
You kicked off your shoes and threw your bag onto the couch, your phone within it. You tried to calm your breathing but you couldn’t handle the pain in your chest.
Ten minutes later there was a knock and your stomach dropped. You got up from where you’d curled into yourself on the couch and approached the door slowly.
“Y/N…?”
You froze in your tracks. It was Han’s voice. Soft. Careful. He’d never had to use that tone with you before. Your chest tightened painfully, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to stay quiet.
Another knock.
“Please… I know you’re in there.”
You slid down the door slowly until you were sitting on the floor. On the other side of the wood you could hear him breathing heavily. Some distant part of your brain realised that he must have run here.
“Whatever you saw… I didn’t mean for you to see it like that,” he pleaded.
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Like that. How else were you meant to see it?
“Can you just open the door? Please?”
You shook your head even though he couldn’t see it.
“I just want to talk.”
Silence stretched. Your shoulders shook with quiet sobs.
Han’s voice came again, softer this time.
“…You’re crying.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block his voice out. It just hurt more.
“Please don’t cry because of me.”
There was another long pause followed by a quiet thud as his forehead rested against the door.
“I’m sorry.”
You didn’t move. Just sat there on the floor, listening to his breathing through the door.l, trying desperately to quiet your sobs.
After a few minutes, his footsteps slowly faded away.
You thought that he’d given up. But you were wrong because your phone buzzed later that night.
Can we talk?
You stared at the screen until it went dark but you didn’t reply. You didn’t want to hear that he was sorry. That you were his best friend but that night had been a mistake.
The next morning, you woke up to another message:
I messed up.
You ignored it. Then that evening:
Please don’t shut me out.
Still nothing. The following day, he tried again.
I miss you.
Your heart hurt so badly that you almost replied but the image of the girl from the night before flashed through your mind again. The voice calling him back for that dance. Had he gone back to dance with her and then run over? Did he not want to lose his chance but still felt he needed to save the friendship?
You put your phone face down.
On day three, you finally forced yourself to leave the apartment. You needed groceries. Needed air.
You needed to stop feeling like your life had collapsed over one stupid mistake. A mistake that, if you were being honest with yourself, hadn’t been much of a mistake for you at all.
You walked into the store with headphones on, listening to the playlist you’d made years ago with Han. You quickly pushed the thought of Han away, trying to focus on the list in your hand.
Milk. Bread. Eggs.
Normal things. Normal life.
You turned into the bread aisle and walked straight into someone.
“Oh—sorry—”
You looked up, rubbing your forehead. Han was frozen in front of you and for a moment neither of you moved. His eyes widened like he’d just seen a ghost.
“Y/N…”
Your stomach dropped. Of course he’d be here. You glanced down and saw the flowers in his hand. The nice outfit he had on - the best shirt he owned. The one you’d bought together. Did he have a date?
You turned around immediately. “I have to go.”
“Wait, Y/N—”
His hand caught your wrist. The touch sent a familiar spark up your arm and the ache in your chest just intensified.
“Please,” he said quickly. “Just let me explain.”
“I don’t need an explanation,” you said quietly. “I just want to go. Please, Han.”
His grip tightened slightly. “Yes, you do. You do need an explanation, Y/N-“
Before you could answer, a voice chimed in.
“Oh! Han!”
You both turned. The same girl from the party walked up with a bright smile. Your heart sank. The flowers, the outfit… definitely a date, then.
She stepped right next to him again. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said, smirking.
You pulled your wrist back instinctively.
“I’ll just—”
Han didn’t let go. Instead he turned to her, face completely serious.
“I’m busy.”
She blinked. “Oh—well maybe—”
“It’s not going to happen. I told you the other night that it wouldn’t and I’m telling you again now. I’m in love with someone,” he said bluntly.
The girl’s smile faltered. “Oh.”
Awkward silence hung for a moment before she shrugged and looked your way, giving you a once over.
She scoffed and walked off, muttering, “Your loss.”
You stared at him. “…What?”
Han finally looked back at you. His expression was a mixture of nerves, exhaustion, and something painfully sincere.
“You heard me.”
Your heart pounded. “Han—”
“I’ve been losing my mind for three days,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You won’t answer my texts. You wouldn’t open the door. And you keep running away from me.”
Your throat tightened. “You were flirting with her.”
“I was smiling,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
“It didn’t look like that.”
His shoulders sagged. For a second neither of you spoke. Then he took a shaky breath.
“After… that night,” he said quietly, “I freaked out.”
Your chest tightened again. “I knew it,” you whispered.
“No,” he said quickly. “Not like that.”
You frowned.
“I freaked out because I realized how much you meant to me.” Your breath caught. “I’ve been in love with you for years,” he said.
The words hit you like a shock. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” he continued, voice shaky. “And then suddenly we… crossed that line.” Your heart was hammering now. “And I thought maybe you regretted it,” he said.
“I thought you regretted it!”
Han blinked. “What?”
“You left the next morning and then you disappeared!”
“I panicked!” he said. “I was terrified that if I acted normal I’d mess it up somehow. Or say something stupid.”
You stared at him. “So your solution was to avoid me completely?”
He winced. “…In hindsight, not my best decision.”
Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you through the tears still lingering in your eyes. Han’s gaze softened when he saw it.
“I hated seeing you look at me like that at the party,” he said quietly. “Like I’d broken your heart.”
Your voice wavered. “You did.”
His expression crumpled.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I’m so sorry,” he continued, stepping a little closer. “But please believe me when I say this.” His fingers left your wrist to cup your face. “You’re the only person I want.”
Your throat felt tight.
“I’m not good at this,” he admitted softly. “Feelings. Confessions. Being brave.” A small nervous laugh escaped him. “But I know one thing for sure.” His eyes met yours. “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you.”
Your vision blurred again—but this time from something warmer. “Han…”
“If you don’t feel the same, I’ll back off,” he said quickly. “I swear. I just—needed you to know the truth.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then quietly, “You’re an idiot.”
He blinked. “…Wait, what?”
“I cried for three days."
“Okay, I deserve that.”
“And you let me believe you regretted sleeping with me.”
“I definitely deserve that.”
You took a shaky breath and raised your hands to his waist. Han froze in shock, eyes widening slightly. You buried your face in his shoulder.
“I’m in love with you too,” you murmured.
For a second he didn’t move but then his arms wrapped around you tightly—like he was afraid you might disappear.
“Seriously?” he asked softly. You laughed against his jacket.
“Yes, seriously.”
His relieved laugh burst out immediately.
“Thank God,” he muttered.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “But if you ever ghost me like that again—”
“I won’t,” he said quickly.
“I will ruin your life.”
“Fair.”
You both laughed. Han gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
You smiled. “Finally asking first?”
“Growth,” he said proudly, smirking down at you.
You rolled your eyes but leaned up and kissed him anyway.
Summary: Two strangers share a table in a crowded café and find their way back to each other. Over and over again.
Warnings: none.
Word count: 4.5k.
a/n: this is my longest piece yet and ya gal tried her hardest, haha! I think I very well might have emptied my remaining brain cells into this and I'm still not 100% satisfied with it. Anyway, it's my attempt at fluff, although it feels somewhat bittersweet, so enjoy.
It started like most things in your life did: in the most unremarkable way possible.
It was just another day that felt like it had already decided nothing important would happen. The sky hung low and grey, like it was too tired to bother being anything else. Tucked away into your usual corner of the café, the one by the window where the glass always fogged just enough to blur the world outside, your drink had gone lukewarm a while ago. You kept lifting it to your lips anyway, although it was more out of habit than enjoyment. There was a quiet comfort in routine, even when it bordered on dull for most people.
You were that wrapped up in your grey sky thinking that you didn’t notice him at first. Later, you would think about that, about how strange it was that something so life-altering could begin without a single dramatic cue. There was nothing cinematic about it; no swell of music, no sudden shift in the air. Just the soft chime of the café door opening and closing, blending into the background noise of clinking cups, the hissing of the coffee machine, and low conversation.
He slipped into the empty seat across from you like he belonged there. “Sorry,” he said, voice warm and low, threaded with an accent you couldn’t quite place at first. “Everywhere else is full.”
You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. You looked around the café dubiously. Your first instinct being to say no, to guard your quiet little bubble, but the apology in his eyes softened you before you could speak.
“That’s fine,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the chair.
He smiled then, and it was… disarming. Not in a flashy, overwhelming way, but in something softer, something almost careful. It was almost like he was aware of the effect he might have and was trying to dial it down.
“Thanks.”
That was it. No thunderclap. No sudden, breath-taking realization. Just a stranger sitting across from you, pulling off his coat, shaking out damp strands of blond hair that caught the dim café light like something brighter than the grey day outside.
You went back to your drink. He went to his phone. The world stayed quiet, until his deep voice questioned, “Do you come here a lot?”
It was such an ordinary question, bordering on cliché. Yet, the way he asked it made you glance away from the window again. There was a certain tentativeness to him that you weren’t expecting, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to disturb your peace or not.
“Yeah,” you admitted. You didn’t want the conversation to end as quickly as it had started so you quickly added, “It’s close to my apartment.”
He nodded, like that made perfect sense. “I like it,” he said. “It feels… calm.”
You hummed in agreement. This café was your sanctuary at the end of a long work day. Your sanctuary when you needed to escape the hustle and bustle of life with three other flatmates.
You felt it then, as you watched him across the table. Something had shifted, just slightly. A thread pulled taut between two people who, moments ago, had been just strangers.
The conversation didn’t rush. It unfolded slowly, like pages turning in a book you didn’t realize you were already invested in. You learned his name—Felix—and he learned yours. You talked about small things at first: the weather, the music playing softly overhead, the way the barista always got one person’s order wrong without fail.
Suddenly, somehow, you were laughing at something Felix said. Not the polite kind, and not the quiet exhale through your nose, that you were used to using lately. It was real laughter. The kind that surprised you with its own brightness. It felt foreign in your chest, like something you hadn’t used in a while.
Felix lit up at the sound of it.
There was something about him that made things feel lighter. Not in a careless way, but in a way that made the weight of everything else seem… manageable. You didn’t pray into his life too much so you didn’t ask what he did for a living. You didn’t think to.
And maybe that’s why it felt so easy.
- x -
He came back the next day.
And the day after that.
At first, it was coincidence (or so you told yourself). The same time, the same corner, the same soft smile when your eyes met over the rim of your cups.
“Is this seat taken?” he’d ask, even when it clearly wasn’t.
“It is now,” you’d reply, smiling softly up at him.
It became your new routine. You learned the way he liked his coffee. He learned you always ordered the same thing but pretended to consider the menu anyway. You started saving the seat across from you without thinking about it, your bag resting there until he arrived.
You didn’t question why it mattered. You didn’t question why, on the days he was late, the café felt a little too quiet.
It wasn’t until weeks later that the world outside your new, small, warm version of normal came crashing in.
- x -
You were scrolling absentmindedly on your phone on your work break when you saw it. A video full of bright lights, a stage, music loud enough to shake through the screen.
And him.
Felix.
But not the Felix you knew. This Felix was… untouchable. The camera loved him. The crowd roared for him. He moved like he belonged to something bigger than himself—like every gesture, every smile, every glance had been sharpened into something dazzling and deliberate.
You sat there, frozen, your thumb hovering over the screen as the video looped again. And again. And again. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit. The Felix you knew was soft-spoken, a little shy, the kind of person who apologized for taking up space. The Felix on your screen was magnetic, larger than life, surrounded by a world that felt impossibly far from your quiet café corner.
Your chest tightened.
You didn’t know why it felt like something was slipping through your fingers.
- x -
You panicked after that.
You finished work and avoided the turn you'd usually take. At first, you told yourself you had a good reason for not going. That you were simply too tired from work, that the weather felt just a bit too heavy, or that there were other cafés—closer ones, quieter ones, ones that didn’t carry the weight of expectation in every corner.
But that wasn’t true. You avoided it because you wanted to avoid him.
The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual.
For a moment, everything felt normal. The soft haze of sleep, the quiet stretch of a new day, the instinctive thought of heading to the café before it got too crowded.
The thought stopped you cold.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment and then, slowly, you turned over and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.
You didn’t go.
- x -
That one video you started with soon became two.
Two became ten.
You spent nights at your apartment curled up in your room, but mentally you were somewhere else entirely—falling down a quiet, endless spiral of performances, interviews, fan edits, brand ambassadorships, clips slowed down to capture the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way entire crowds seemed to breathe in time with him.
Felix.
Not just Felix.
That Felix. Their Felix.
You learned things you hadn’t asked for. Numbers, first. Always numbers. Views in the millions. Followers in the millions. Concert venues filled to capacity, oceans of light sticks waving in unison like something out of a dream you had no place in. Then came the names. Headlines. Mentions of international tours, fashion events, appearances you had never even heard of. He wasn’t just known. He was everywhere. And the more you watched, the more something inside you twisted—tight and unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
Because you knew him. Didn’t you?
The Felix who sat across from you, who wrapped his hands around a warm cup like he needed the heat, who laughed softly and ducked his head like he wasn’t used to being looked at for too long.
But this Felix… This Felix stood in front of thousands like it was second nature. Like he had always belonged there. Like he didn’t need quiet corners or fogged-up windows or lukewarm drinks to feel real.
You paused on a video mid-frame.
His face filled your screen, lit up by stage lights, eyes shining, lips curved into that same smile—but it wasn’t the same. Or maybe it was. Maybe that was the problem.
You felt your chest tighten further.
- x -
You started trying other cafés instead.
The one today was smaller. Closer. The coffee was stronger, a little too bitter, and the seating wasn’t as comfortable. The window didn’t fog the same way. The light didn’t fall as softly across the tables.
It wasn’t your café. It wasn’t his either.
You told yourself that was a good thing.
You sat there, stirring your drink long after the sugar had dissolved, listening to conversations that didn’t include you, watching people who didn’t matter pass by the window. It should have felt the same but it didn’t.
You kept glancing at the empty chair across from you, anyway.
It stayed empty.
- x -
Days passed. Then more.
You got better at not thinking about it. Or at least, you got better at pretending. You stopped opening videos, stopped searching his name, stopped letting yourself wonder what he was doing, where he was, whether he had gone back to the café and found your seat empty.
Because that last thought… That one lingered. Unwanted. Persistent.
Did he notice?
Would he care?
Or would he just sit down anyway, order his drink, and move on like people always do? You pressed your lips together and shoved the thought away.
It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter to you.
- x -
One afternoon, you found yourself standing across the street from the café without meaning to.
You had taken a different route home (at least, that’s what you told yourself) but your feet had carried you here anyway, stopping just far enough away that you could pretend you weren’t really there.
The window was fogged, just like always, but you could still see shapes moving inside. Familiar ones. The outline of someone at the counter, the soft glow of warm lights reflecting against glass.
Your chest tightened. You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. But still, you couldn’t stop it as your eyes drifted to your usual spot. The corner by the window, the table where everything had started.
It was occupied.
But not by him.
Someone else. A stranger, hunched over a laptop, completely unaware of the quiet significance that place held for you. Of course they were. Why wouldn’t they be? The world didn’t pause just because something had shifted for you.
You let out a slow breath, something caught between a sigh and a laugh. “Right,” you murmured under your breath. What had you expected? That it would stay empty? That it would wait for you? For him? That somehow, that small space would hold onto what it had been instead of becoming something new? That wasn’t how things worked. You knew that.
You turned away before you could look any longer.
- x -
That night, you picked up your phone again.
You didn’t mean to, it just… ended up in your hand. Your thumb hovered over the search bar. Just one more time, you thought. Just to see how he was.
You typed his name.
The results flooded in instantly, like they had been waiting. New videos. New performances. New clips of him smiling, laughing, shining in a world that felt impossibly far away from yours. You clicked one. It played. And there he was again.
Felix.
Bright. Effortless. Surrounded by noise and light and people who adored him in a way that felt overwhelming just to witness.
You watched him for a long moment before pausing the video. Your reflection stared back at you from the darkened screen, faint and uncertain, layered over his frozen image. Two worlds. Overlapping for a second. But not meant to stay that way.
Your throat felt tight.
“You should have told me,” you whispered, though there was no one there to hear it. Or maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe you still would have sat across from him, still would have laughed, still would have let something soft and quiet grow in the space between you.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because now you knew, and you couldn’t unknow it.
You set your phone down, face-down this time, like that might be enough to quiet everything it had stirred up.
- x -
The next morning, you woke up early again. The habit hadn’t gone away. It lingered, stubborn and familiar, pulling you toward something you were still trying to avoid.
You sat up slowly, running a hand through your hair, your gaze drifting toward the window. The sky was grey. Of course it was. You exhaled and for a moment, you just sat there, caught between two choices.
Go.
Don’t go.
Simple. But not easy. Because going meant facing it, facing him and what you now knew and how things had shifted into something uncertain and fragile. And not going? Not going meant letting it fade. Letting that small, warm thing slip away without ever really understanding what it had been.
Your chest tightened.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed. Stood up. Paused. Then… You turned away. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
You told yourself that as you moved through the motions of your morning, as you chose a different route, a different café, a different version of your day that didn’t include him. But even as you did, even as you tried to step away from it, something soft and stubborn remained. Lingering, waiting, just beneath the surface. Like it wasn’t quite ready to let go. Not yet.
- x -
The day you finally decided to go back, he was later than he used to be for the first time since this strange, fragile routine had begun.
You told yourself it didn’t matter, you told yourself you didn’t care. But you kept glancing at the door anyway, the chime of it opening sending a flicker of hope through you each time—only for it to settle back into something dull and disappointed when it wasn’t him.
You gathered up your rubbish, about to leave when he finally appeared. You watched as he approached the counter and ordered his drink, eyes only searching the room once he was finished. You noticed his usual smile was missing, until his gaze landed on you. He face lit up as he rushed over to the table.
“You’re back! I-I’m sorry,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “I got caught up in something.”
You studied him. Really studied him. And now that you knew, you could see it. The faint traces of makeup not fully washed away. The way he seemed just a little more tired than usual, like he was carrying something heavier than he let on. The way people glanced at him, recognition flickering in their expressions before they looked away again.
“You’re an idol,” you said. You didn’t pose it as a question, simply stated it as a fact.
He froze. For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face—something almost like fear. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
Silence stretched between you. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even awkward. Just… different.
“You didn’t tell me,” you said, not accusing, just stating.
“I know.” His voice was quieter now. “I didn’t want it to change things.”
You looked down at your cup, at the dregs that were left of your drink.
“But it does,” you said.
Because it had to. Because how could it not?
He wasn’t just Felix anymore. He was someone who belonged to stages and cameras and crowds that stretched farther than you could even imagine. Someone whose life was dictated by schedules and expectations and a million unseen eyes.
Someone who, inevitably, would have to leave.
“I like this,” he said suddenly, leaning forward slightly. “This. Here. With you. It feels… real. And I missed you. When you disappeared.”
Your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t confusion. It was something softer. Something more dangerous.
“You’re real,” you replied quietly.
He smiled at that, but there was a hint of sadness in it.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”
- x -
Things didn’t end. They changed.
He still came to the café, but not as often. Some days he’d disappear entirely, only to return with stories half-told and exhaustion he tried to hide behind easy smiles. You learned not to ask too many questions. He learned you would now be there when he came back. And in between everything—between the noise of his world and the quiet of yours—you found something that didn’t quite fit into either.
Something gentle. Something fleeting. Something that felt a little like borrowed time.
- x -
One evening, the sky wasn’t grey.
It was soft and golden, the kind of sunset that made everything look warmer than it really was. You were outside the café for once, sitting side by side instead of across from each other, watching the light fade slowly into evening.
Felix was quieter than usual.
“You ever think about how things end?” he asked.
You frowned slightly, turning to look at him. “That’s a bit heavy.”
He huffed out a small laugh, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”
You nudged his shoulder lightly. “What brought that on?”
He didn’t answer right away and when he did, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “I can’t stay here forever.”
You knew that, deep down. But hearing it out loud felt like something solid cracking.
“I know,” you said, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat.
“And you—,” He hesitated. “You shouldn’t wait for me.”
You turned away from him then, back towards the setting sun.
“I’m not waiting,” you said. Not entirely true. But not entirely a lie either. “I’m just… here.”
He studied you, like he was trying to memorize something.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “You are.”
- x -
The warmth that Felix brought to your life didn’t come from grand gestures. It came from the small things. The way he remembered how you liked your drink and ordered it for you before you arrived. The way he listened—really listened—when you talked, like your words mattered in a way the world often didn’t allow. The way he existed in that space with you, not as an idol, not as someone untouchable, but just… Felix.
And maybe that was enough. Maybe it didn’t have to last forever to mean something. Maybe some people come into your life not to stay, but to remind you that warmth exists—that even in the quietest, most ordinary corners of the world, something soft and bright can find you.
Even if it’s only for a while.
- x -
The day he left, the sky was grey again.
You sat in your usual spot, your drink untouched, the seat across from you empty. But it didn’t feel the same as it had before. It wasn’t dull. It wasn’t heavy. It was… full.
Because he had been there.
Because, in some quiet, fleeting way, Felix had come into your life and changed it—not with something loud or dramatic, but with something soft and steady and real.
The door chimed and you glanced up instinctively. You weren’t expecting him, not anymore. But still, you couldn’t help hanging on to that small sliver of hope.
— x — x — x —
ONE YEAR LATER
The door chimed.
You glanced up instinctively—just like you had every day since he left, even when you told yourself not to.
You weren’t expecting him. Not anymore. It was just a muscle memory that refused to fade. But still… a small sliver of hope.
It wasn’t him, but of course it wasn’t.
You let your gaze drift back down to your cup, tracing the faint ring left behind on the table, the ghost of something that had already come and gone. The café hadn’t changed. The same soft music played overhead. The same barista fumbled an order at the counter. The same window fogged at the edges where warmth met the cold outside.
Everything was exactly as it had been. Except for the empty seat across from you.
You had stopped saving it a while ago. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Your bag sat there now, casually placed, like it meant nothing. Like you hadn’t once guarded that space so carefully, like it hadn’t quietly become his.
Time had passed. Enough that the ache had softened into something dull and manageable. Enough that you could sit here without feeling like something was missing... most days. Today just happened to be one of the harder ones, and you still weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the way the light fell just right through the window, catching on the table in the same way it used to when he’d sit across from you, smiling like he had nowhere else he needed to be. Or maybe it was just one of those days where memory pressed a little closer than usual.
You exhaled slowly and reached for your drink.
The door chimed again.
But this time:
“Is this seat taken?”
Your hand stilled.
It was ridiculous, how quickly your heart betrayed you. The way it leapt before your mind could catch up, before logic could step in and tell you not to be stupid, not to turn around, not to hope like that.
But you did.
And there he was.
Felix.
Standing there like no time had passed at all, like he hadn’t disappeared into a world that felt galaxies away from this small, quiet café. His hair was longer now, his coat different, his presence somehow both the same and not.
But his eyes… His eyes were exactly as you remembered. Warm. Careful. A little unsure. Like he didn’t know if he was still allowed to be here.
You stared at him. For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t quite believe that he was real and not just something your mind had conjured up out of longing and habit.
“You’re—” You stopped, swallowing. “You’re back.”
He gave a small, almost sheepish smile.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I am.”
The café didn’t fade away. The world didn’t pause.
Someone laughed at the counter. A cup clinked against a saucer. The door chimed again behind him as another customer walked in. Everything kept moving. And yet, somehow, everything had shifted.
You glanced at the seat across from you, at your bag still resting there, then back at him. “You can sit,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.
Relief flickered across his face, quick and bright, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“Thanks.”
He slipped into the chair like he always had, like it had always been his. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was too much to say. Too much time sitting between you, unspoken and heavy and fragile all at once.
“You look…” he started, then trailed off, as if he couldn’t quite find the right word.
“Different?” you offered.
He shook his head slightly. “No,” he said. “Familiar.”
Something in your chest tightened. “You disappeared for a long time,” you said, not harshly, but not softly either. Just… honestly.
“I know.” His gaze dropped briefly to the table. “I didn’t mean to. Things just—” He exhaled. “They got busy. Complicated. I kept thinking I’d come back sooner, but then it kept becoming later, and…”
“And it felt harder to come back at all,” you finished.
He looked up at you, surprised. “Yeah,” he admitted. Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of everything that had been left unsaid.
“I thought about you,” he said suddenly and your breath caught in your throat. “A lot,” he added, quieter now. “More than I probably should have.”
You let out a small, almost incredulous huff of laughter. “That’s funny,” you said. “I did the same.”
His lips curved slightly, but there was something tentative in it. “Were you… okay?” he asked. It was such a simple question. And yet, it held so much more beneath it.
You considered it for a moment. “I was,” you said finally. “I am.” Not because nothing had changed, but because it had and you had learned how to carry it.
He nodded, like that mattered to him more than anything else. “I’m glad.”
Another pause. Another moment where the world seemed to wait, just slightly, to see what you would do next.
“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” you asked. Because you had to. Because this—whatever this was—couldn’t exist without that truth sitting somewhere between you.
Felix didn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah,” he said. Of course he was. Of course this wasn’t the kind of story where everything suddenly became easy. But he didn’t look away. “I can’t stay,” he continued, “but… I didn’t want to just not come back.”
Your fingers curled slightly around your cup. “Why?” you asked, even though a part of you already knew.
His gaze softened. “Because this matters to me,” he said simply. “You matter to me.”
The words settled into you, warm and heavy all at once. It would be so easy to push back. To protect yourself. To say that it didn’t change anything, that he would still leave, that this would still hurt, that whatever existed between you was still something fragile and temporary.
But not everything had to last forever to be real. Not everything had to be permanent to be worth holding onto.
You exhaled slowly. “Okay,” you said.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Okay?”
You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “Okay.”
Because you understood now. This wasn’t about holding on tightly enough to keep him from leaving. It was about letting something be what it was—warm and fleeting and real—without trying to turn it into something it couldn’t be.
Felix smiled then. Not the careful one, not the slightly guarded one he wore when he wasn’t sure of his place. The one you remembered. Bright. Soft. A little bit relieved.
“I missed this,” he said.
You glanced around the café—the window, the table, the space between you.
“Me too,” you admitted. And then, after a beat, “I missed you.”
Something in his expression shifted at that, like the words had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “I missed you too,” he said quietly.
Outside, the sky was still grey. The same as it had been the day everything started, the same as it had been the day he left.
But somehow, it didn’t feel as heavy because this time, when the door chimed you knew he would come back.
Description: Spencer has kept every note you’ve ever written for him. You just weren’t supposed to find out.
___________________________________
Title: Things Spencer Reid Keeps
The first note fell out of Spencer’s wallet while he was searching for his Metro card. It landed facedown beside your shoe, folded twice along lines softened from use. You picked it up before he noticed.
“Is this important?”
Spencer looked down and his entire expression changed. “I—yes. Thank you.”
He reached for it too quickly, but not before you recognized the pale yellow paper and the small coffee stain in one corner.
“Wait.” You unfolded it.
Spencer made a quiet sound of protest.
The handwriting was yours: Don’t forget to eat lunch today. Coffee doesn’t count as a meal, no matter how much sugar you put in it.
Beneath it, you had drawn a terrible little cartoon of him wearing glasses and holding an oversized mug.
You stared at the note. “I wrote this.”
“Yes.”
“Three years ago.”
“Two years, nine months, and eleven days.”
You looked up slowly. “Why is it in your wallet?”
Spencer shifted his satchel higher on his shoulder. Around you, the rest of the team continued gathering their things, too distracted by the promise of going home after a twelve-hour day to pay attention.
“It reminded me to eat.”
“You memorized it the second you read it.”
“That doesn’t mean reminders are ineffective.”
“You’ve carried this around for almost three years?”
His ears began turning pink. “It’s durable paper.”
“It came from a legal pad.”
“I reinforced the folds.”
You looked at the small square in your hand again. There was clear tape along one edge, carefully applied where the paper had begun to tear. Something warm and dangerously hopeful stirred in your chest.
“Do you still forget lunch?”
“Occasionally.”
“Then I should probably write you a new one.”
Spencer took the note from you with surprising gentleness. “This one still works.”
Before you could ask what that meant, Morgan called for him from the elevator. Spencer tucked the note safely back into his wallet and followed.
You spent the entire journey home thinking about it.
•••••••
The second note appeared two weeks later.
You were at Spencer’s apartment, helping him reorganize the books that had taken over his dining table. He insisted there was a system. You insisted that stacking books on every available surface did not qualify as one.
You had just lifted a thick Russian novel when a small blue slip of paper fluttered onto the floor.
You recognized that one too.
You did everything you could. Be kind to yourself tonight.
You had written it after a case in Ohio. Spencer had blamed himself for failing to reach a victim in time, and you hadn’t known what else to say.
When you turned around, he was standing completely still beside the bookshelf.
“You kept this one too.”
Spencer looked at the note, then at the open wooden box on the table.
Your eyes followed his.
Inside were dozens of folded pieces of paper.
Napkins. Sticky notes. Torn corners of reports. The back of an old boarding pass.
All covered in your handwriting.
You approached the box slowly.
Your lecture was incredible. Stop reading the negative reviews.
There’s tea in the break room. The kind you like.
You’re allowed to have a bad day.
Good luck. Not that you need it.
One was only a poorly drawn smiley face beside the words Welcome back. That one had been left on his desk after his first day returning from medical leave.
“Spencer.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets. “I can explain.”
“I’d really like you to.”
He looked toward the window, visibly searching for somewhere else to focus.
“People speak approximately sixteen thousand words per day, though studies disagree significantly based on the collection method. Most of those words are forgotten almost immediately.”
You waited.
“But written language is different,” he continued. “It exists outside the moment in which it was created. You can return to it.”
His gaze dropped to the note in your hand. “Sometimes I needed to.”
Your heart tightened. “So you kept all of them?”
“Not all.”
You glanced into the nearly full box.
“Most,” he corrected.
“Why mine?”
Spencer was quiet for so long that you wondered if he would answer.
Then he crossed the small distance between you and took the blue note carefully from your fingers.
“Because you write things you don’t always say.”
“What things?”
“That you were worried about me. That you noticed when I was having a difficult day.” His thumb moved across the edge of the paper. “That I mattered to you.”
“You do matter to me.”
“I know.”
The certainty in his voice caught you off guard.
Spencer finally looked at you.
“I didn’t know whether I mattered in the way you mattered to me.”
Every clever response disappeared.
“You could have asked.”
“The potential consequences seemed considerably worse than uncertainty.”
“You face armed killers for a living.”
“They aren’t you.”
It was such a Spencer answer that you nearly laughed, except his expression was too open, too nervous.
You reached into the box and found an unused sticky note tucked along the side.
“Do you have a pen?”
He handed you one immediately. You turned away slightly while you wrote, shielding the words with your hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Updating the collection.”
You folded the note once and held it out. Spencer opened it.
I love you too.
He read it in less than a second, but continued staring at it as though the words might rearrange themselves.
“I didn’t say that I—”
“You didn’t have to.”
His eyes lifted to yours. “Is this real?”
“You have an eidetic memory, Spencer. I’m pretty sure you know what my handwriting looks like.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
You softened. “Yes. It’s real.”
Spencer placed the note inside the box with extraordinary care.
Then he leaned in and kissed you.
It was hesitant at first, his hand hovering near your waist as though he was still waiting for permission. You closed the distance yourself, and the quiet breath he released against your lips felt almost like relief. When you pulled apart, his forehead remained against yours.
“You know,” you whispered, “most people keep photographs.”
“I have photographs.”
“Of me?”
His silence answered for him.
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “How many?”
“That information isn’t currently relevant.”
“It’s extremely relevant.”
Spencer kissed you again before you could continue the interrogation.
Later, the newest note went into his wallet. The old one stayed there too.
⋆.˚ The four times you shot your shot with Spencer Reid, and the one time it worked.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼
Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader
⋆.˚ ellie talks- entirely based on this one image I saw on pinterest yesterday and had to write something.
wc-875
cw- s1!Spencer, whole lotta fluff, basically you keep buying socks for Spencer until he gets that you have a crush on him.
⋆.˚Pair One- The Welcome Back Socks.
The bullpen was loud, buzzing with the collective relief of a closed case. But Spencer’s desk was a quiet island of clutter. It was his first day back after a brutal, sleepless week recovering from a concussion, and he looked incredibly fragile sitting beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
You walked over, clutching a small, neatly wrapped paper bag. “Hey,” you said softly. “Welcome back.”
Spencer looked up. His brown eyes blinking behind a strand of hair that had fallen into his face. “Oh. Thank you. Statistically, the transition back to high-stress cognitive environments post-concussion is most successful when-”
“Spencer,” You interrupted gently, sliding the bag onto his desk. “I got you a little ‘glad you didn’t die’ present.”
He opened the bag with precise, careful movements. Inside was a pair of thick, luxurious wool socks, patterned with tiny, anatomically correct brains and stacks of books.
“They’re… wool.” He murmured, staring at them as if they were a rare manuscript.
“They have brains on them,” you pointed out, smiling as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and folded your arms, leaning your thigh against his desk. “Thought they might keep your feet warm in the archives. It gets drafty down there.”
“Actually, thermoregulation is vital for cognitive performance,” Spencer said, his face lighting up with that brilliant, boyish enthusiasm that always made your chest ache. “The sheep wool has natural crimps that create pockets of still air, which-”
“You’re welcome, Spencer,” you laughed, patting his shoulder as you stood. You let your hand linger for just a second too long, hoping he’d look at you, and see the affection in your eyes.
He just beamed at the wool brains.
Shot one, completely missed.
⋆.˚Pair Two- The Birthday Socks.
For Spencer’s birthday, the team threw a small, chaotic party in the breakroom. After the cake was cut, and JJ and Penelope were busy teasing Morgan, you nudged Spencer’s elbow and nodded toward the quiet hallway. He followed you, curious.
“Here,” you said, slipping a small gift box into his hands. “Happy birthday, Spence.”
He unwrapped it to find vintage style socks, featuring retro, 1960’s space invaders and a blue police box. You’d spent three weeks sourcing them online. Along with it was a card that read: For the guy who’s entirely out of this world. I’m glad we share a planet.
Spencer gasped. “Are these… the original 1963 BBC licensed colour palette? The dye consistency on these is incredibly rare. They stopped using this specific thread count in the mid-seventies because of textile manufacturing shifts in-”
“Do you like them?” You asked, stepping closer in the quiet hallway. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your heart a frantic tap dance against your ribs.
“I love them,” he said softly, his voice dropping a register as he looked down at you. For a fleeting, breathless second, you thought he might actually get it. He reached out, gently grasping your wrist. “How did you find these? The probability of locating an intact pair from this batch is less than three percent.”
You sighed, a fond, helpless smile breaking across your face. “I have my ways. Happy birthday, Spencer.”
Shot two, close, but still entirely platonic in his brilliant, stubborn mind.
⋆.˚Pair Three- The Mid-Flight Constellations.
It was 3:00 AM on the BAU jet. The cabin was dark, save for the single reading light casting a warm glow over Spencer’s face. He was shivering slightly, his long legs pulled up to his chest as he tried to read a dusty volume on medieval folklore.
You unbuckled, quietly padding over to his seat. You sat in the space next to him, your thigh pressing against his as you lifted your feet to rest against the table in front of you. “The jet’s heating system relies on bleed air from the engines,” Spencer mumbled, his teeth actually clicking. “It’s notoriously uneven. I forgot my heavy boots.”
“Lucky for you, I’m a mind reader.” You pulled a pair of ultra-plush, navy blue cabin socks from your bag. They were printed with the silver-threaded constellations of the Northern Hemisphere. “I picked them up from that store opposite the hotel. Put them on.”
Spencer stared at them as he reached out, taking the soft fabric into his hands. “Are these… Ursa Major? And Cassiopeia?” He ran a thumb over the constellations. “These are compression-blend cabin socks. They improve venous return and reduce the risk of deep vein thrombosis during long flights.”
“I bought them because they looked like the night sky,” you mumbled, “And because I don’t like seeing you cold.”
He slipped them on immediately, letting out a soft sigh of relief as his feet warmed up, before looking at you, his eyes incredibly dark and soft in the dim light of the cabin. “Thank you, this is incredibly thoughtful. You always seem to know exactly what I need.”
You stared at his mouth, waiting for the penny to drop. Instead, Spencer smiled warmly, wrapping his hand around yours and squeezing gently. “You should get some sleep. Sleep deprivation impairs the prefrontal cortex.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Shot three, deflated.
⋆.˚Pair Four- The Good Luck Socks.
Spencer was pacing the bullpen like a caged animal. He had to testify in a high profile federal case in two hours, and his anxiety was peaking. He was reciting the chemical composition of court approved paper stock to anyone who would listen.
You walked up to his desk and slid a pair of socks over his stack of files. They were deliberately mismatched, one bright yellow with coffee cups, the other teal with Albert Einstein’s face.
“What’s this?” his eyebrows furrowed, picking them up.
“Good luck charm,” you said, straightening his crooked tie. Your fingers brushed his collarbone, and you felt his pulse spike under your touch. You held his gaze, refusing to look away. “You’re going to be brilliant today. Just like Einstein. And you’ll be properly caffeinated. Wear them.”
Spencer gripped the socks like they were a life vest. “Mismatched socks are statistically proven to break tension in formal environments by introducing a mild element of absurdity.” He mumbled underneath his breath. “You want me to be grounded.”
“I want you to know I’m always in your corner, Spence.” You said. Your voice thick with unspoken meaning. “No matter what.”
He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”
He wore them to court, delivered a flawless testimony, and later told you the tactile sensation of the reinforced heels kept him from hyperventilating. He thought you were the greatest best friend in the world.
Shot four, a swing and a miss.
⋆.˚Pair Five- The Valentine’s Day Socks.
It was Valentine’s Day, and you had decided this was it. The final, desperate attempt before swallowing the rejection and making an attempt to move on. Before Spencer arrived at his desk, you left a small, beautifully wrapped package. Inside was a pair of bright red socks, patterned with highly accurate, detailed anatomical hearts, complete with pulmonary arteries and veins. Next to them, you placed a card, signed with a ridiculous pun you found by googling ‘nerdy valentines day puns’ the previous night.
Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you’re Cu-Te!
When Spencer arrived, you watched from the breakroom as he opened the box. His face went entirely pale, then bright red. He read the card once. Twice. Three times. And then his brain completely stalled. You watched him frantically tap his fingers on his desk, his eyes darting around. He clutched the anatomical heart socks, stared at the card for a moment before stuffing it into his satchel as if it were a live grenade. He pulled the socks on, but he didn’t move. He didn’t come and find you, he just stared blankly at his computer screen.
Your heart sank. Shot five. A disaster.
An hour later, Spencer was still staring at his screen, wearing the bright red heart socks, looking like he was trying to solve a differential equation using only his eyes.
Morgan strolled by, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He stopped, his gaze dropping to Spencer’s ankles. “Nice socks, kid,” he commented, leaning against the edge of the desk. “A little bold for a Tuesday, no?”
Spencer blinked, pulling his eyes away from his monitor. He looked down at his ankles. “Actually, the anatomical representation of the left ventricle is surprisingly accurate for a novelty cotton blend. They were a gift.”
Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. He slowly set his coffee cup down as he glanced over to you in the breakroom, washing your cup. “On Valentine’s Day?” He asked, turning back to Spencer.
“Yes,” Spencer cleared his throat, suddenly finding a paperclip on his desk very interesting. “She also gave me a card, with a… a cute little science pun.”
“And what did you say?”
“Nothing,” Spencer admitted, clenching his jaw and furrowing his eyebrows. “I didn’t want to misinterpret it. It could be a friendly gift. Statistically, seventy percent of non-romantic acquaintances exchange gifts on holidays to reinforce social cohesion, she’s a very empathetic person.”
“Reid.” Morgan cut him off, deadpan. “I didn’t get socks. Hotch didn’t get socks. Garcia didn’t get socks.” He paused long enough for Spencer to look at him. “She’s been buying you custom socks for six months.”
Spencer froze. His pen slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the keyboard. “What?”
“The brains? Space invaders? The stargazing ones?” Morgan laughed, shaking his head with a fond, exasperated grin. “Pretty boy, she isn’t trying to keep your feet warm. She’s trying to sweep you off them. She’s crazy about you. Go.”
Spencer’s eyes went wide. The entire puzzle of the last six months suddenly clicked together in his head. The lingering touches, the soft looks, the incredibly thoughtful, highly specific gifts. He hadn’t been receiving friendly gestures. He had been receiving a love letter, piece by piece. “Oh my god,” he gasped, his chair flying backwards as he scrambled to his feet. “I’m an idiot.”
“We’ve been waiting for you to realise that,” Morgan shouted after him as Spencer sprinted toward the breakroom.
You were standing by the coffee maker, staring at the drip of the liquid into your cup when the door burst open. Spencer stood in the doorway, chest heaving, his hair wild, and wearing the ridiculous red anatomical heart socks with his dress shoes.
“Spence-”
“I’m incredibly stupid,” he blurted out, taking three long strides to close the distance between you. “Well, objectively, my IQ is 187, but emotionally, in this specific department, I am operating at a severe deficit. I thought you were just being nice and then I thought I was projecting my own wishes onto your actions because I’ve wanted to ask you to dinner long before the socks.”
Your breath hitched. “You.. you have?”
“Yes! Practically since the day you started working here but I was terrified of making things awkward, and then Morgan pointed out that you were trying to sweep me off my feet, which is a highly effective idiom since you literally bought me footwear, and-”
You cut off his frantic rambling by reaching up, grabbing the lapels of his cardigan, and pulling him down into a kiss.
He went stiff for a fraction of a second before he let out a soft, shaky sigh. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back with a sweet, desperate intensity that made your knees go weak.
When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, and a brilliant, breathtaking smile was spreading across his face. “So,” he cleared his throat. “Dinner?”
“Uh-huh.” You hummed, your hand sliding round to the back of his neck to pull his mouth back against yours, his fingers tangling in your hair as he cupped your face, laughing gently against your mouth without breaking the kiss as Morgan whistled from the bullpen.
Title: Four of a Kind
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Summary: The BAU discovers you’ve been quietly hiding four PhDs and immediately decide that makes you the perfect match for Spencer. The only problem? He liked you long before he knew about any of them.
Word count: ~1,121
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You had worked at the BAU for eight months before anyone discovered you had four PhDs. It happened because a professor at Georgetown ruined everything.
The team had been invited to consult on a series of threatening letters sent to faculty members. You were standing beside Spencer in the university library when an older man spotted you across the room.
“Dr. Y/L/N?”
You froze. Spencer looked at you.
The professor hurried closer and shook your hand. “I haven’t seen you since the behavioral sciences symposium. Are you still publishing in forensic linguistics, or are you focusing on neuropsychology now?”
Behind you, Morgan stopped walking.
The professor continued before you could answer. “I heard you finished the criminology doctorate. That makes four, doesn’t it?”
Silence filled the library.
You smiled weakly. “Yes.”
“Four?” JJ repeated.
The professor glanced at the team. “She never mentioned them?”
“No,” Emily said. “She did not.”
Spencer was staring at you as though you had grown another head. The professor excused himself, leaving you alone with six profilers who suddenly looked deeply betrayed.
Garcia’s voice came through the phone in Morgan’s hand. “Did that distinguished academic gentleman say four PhDs?”
“You’re on speaker?” you asked.
“I am now.”
Morgan folded his arms. “You’ve been here eight months.”
“It never came up.”
Spencer blinked. “You have doctorates in behavioral science, forensic linguistics, neuropsychology and criminology?”
You glanced at him. “Yes.”
“You let everyone call me the resident genius.”
“You are the resident genius.”
“What are you?”
“Tired, mostly.”
Emily covered a laugh.
Garcia gasped through the phone. “She has more PhDs than Reid.”
“This isn’t a competition,” Spencer said quickly.
“Not anymore,” Morgan replied. “She won.”
“I didn’t win anything.”
JJ looked between you and Spencer. Then she smiled. You knew that smile.
“No,” you said immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Morgan’s grin widened. “Four PhDs. Three PhDs. That’s seven PhDs in one extremely awkward relationship.”
“There is no relationship,” Spencer said. Far too quickly.
You looked away before anyone could see the small sting the words caused. You had liked Spencer almost from the beginning. Not because he was brilliant, though he was. You liked the way he brought you coffee when he noticed you working through lunch. The way he leaned closer when you spoke, as though nothing you said was ever unimportant.
You had never told him about your degrees because people tended to treat you differently afterward. Apparently, he would too.
For the rest of the case, the team became unbearable. Morgan volunteered you and Spencer to review the letters together. JJ arranged for the two of you to interview the same professor. Emily somehow made certain the only empty seats at lunch were beside each other. Garcia began referring to you as “Doctor Reid’s intellectual equal and future tax-dependent.”
“You know married people don’t automatically become tax dependents,” Spencer told her.
“You didn’t deny the married part,” Garcia sang.
Spencer hung up. You tried to laugh with everyone else, but the constant comparisons were beginning to wear on you.
By the time the case ended, you had heard the phrase perfect match fourteen times. On the jet home, Morgan moved his bag from the empty seat beside Spencer.
You picked it up and placed it back. “I’m sitting over there.”
Morgan frowned. “But Reid—”
“Can survive a two-hour flight without discussing dissertations.”
You took a seat beside Emily and opened your book. Spencer watched you from across the aisle. You did not look up.
After landing, you stayed behind to finish paperwork. The bullpen slowly emptied until only you and Spencer remained.
He approached your desk holding two cups of coffee. “I didn’t know if you still wanted one.”
You accepted it despite yourself. “Thank you.”
He lingered.
You continued typing.
“Are you upset with me?”
“No.”
“You haven’t spoken to me voluntarily in six hours.”
“You’ve been counting?”
“Yes.”
You sighed and closed the file. “I’m tired of everyone acting like we should date because I collected one more degree than you.”
Spencer frowned. “I don’t think we should date because of your degrees.”
“I know. You made it very clear there’s no relationship.”
His eyes widened. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“You sounded pretty certain.”
“I was surprised.”
“So was everyone else.”
“No.” He placed his coffee on your desk. “I was surprised because I’ve been trying to prevent them from noticing that I already like you.”
You stared at him.
Spencer’s cheeks turned pink, but he continued. “If they believed the degrees were the reason, they would turn it into a joke. And I didn’t want you to think that I only became interested after discovering them.”
“You were interested before?”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
He looked down. “Approximately seven months.”
“You’ve known me for eight.”
“I needed time to account for other explanations.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. “Of course you did.”
“I like that you correct my chess strategy even though you lose every game.”
“I let you win.”
“That’s statistically unlikely.”
“I’m being vulnerable, Spencer.”
“Sorry.”
You laughed softly.
He relaxed. “I like that you bring your own tea bags because you think the office ones taste like wet paper,” he continued. “And that you pretend not to enjoy Morgan’s jokes even when you’re trying not to laugh.”
Your expression softened. “You noticed all that?”
“I notice you.” The simple words landed harder than any grand declaration could have.
Spencer shifted nervously. “I understand if the team’s behavior has made the idea uncomfortable.”
“It hasn’t.”
“It hasn’t?”
“No. You’re doing that thing where you explain yourself out of asking the actual question.”
He swallowed. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
You pretended to consider it.
Spencer’s fingers tightened around his cup.
“Yes.”
His entire face brightened.
“But,” you added, “we’re not discussing work, dissertations or how many degrees either of us has.”
“That eliminates several conversational categories.”
“You’ll manage.”
He smiled. “I think I can.”
The elevator doors opened behind him.
Morgan stepped out, saw the two of you standing together and stopped. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Yes,” you and Spencer said at the same time.
Morgan grinned.
Spencer reached for your hand before the teasing could begin. “Come on.” You let him lead you toward the elevator.
Morgan watched your joined hands. “So the matchmaking worked.”
Spencer pressed the button. “No,” he said as the doors opened. “You delayed it by at least three weeks.”
The doors closed on Morgan’s offended expression.
You looked at Spencer. “Three weeks?”
“Possibly four.”
You leaned over and kissed his cheek.
His hand tightened around yours.
“Maybe your calculations were wrong, Doctor Reid.”
hiii loved all the stories so much! can i request something in which spencer and reader are dating, and spencer just got a new phd, but doesnt tell anyone about the ceremony because he doesnt think its important. But the reader finds out and goes to see him, cheering and giving him flowers. And maybe, the rest of the BAU find out as well, and the see reader being so loud and realise that spencer has a girlfriend
This one's got some fluffy bits that had me biting my knuckles. anyways, here you go, lovely anon <3
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Title: Worth Celebrating
Spencer had not meant to hide the graduation. In his defense, he had not considered it important enough to mention. It was only another doctorate. There would be a ceremony, several speeches, uncomfortable robes, and nearly three hours of waiting for his name to be called. He already had three degrees framed in a closet because he disliked displaying them.
So when Emily approved his request for Friday morning off, he simply wrote academic obligation on the form. No one asked.
You found out because Georgetown called your apartment. The registrar left a message asking Dr. Spencer Reid to confirm whether he would be attending the commencement ceremony for his newest PhD. You listened to it twice. Then you called him.
“What are you doing Friday?”
There was a pause. “Working.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“At Georgetown?”
Another pause. Spencer was a terrible liar when he knew you already had the answer. “It isn’t a significant event,” he said.
“You’re graduating.”
“Technically.”
“With another PhD.”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to sit through the ceremony.”
You stared at the phone. “Spencer, I once listened to you explain the history of paper clips for forty minutes.”
“That was relevant to the development of modern office systems.”
“I’m coming.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That should have warned him.
On Friday morning, Spencer sat among several hundred graduates, wearing a black robe and the expression of a man attempting to become part of the upholstery.
He had nearly succeeded.
Then he heard you. “THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!”
Every head in the auditorium turned. Spencer closed his eyes. You stood near the back row holding an enormous bouquet of sunflowers and waving both arms above your head. The woman beside you laughed. A man in front of you started clapping. Spencer’s face burned.
The professor next to him leaned over. “Supportive.”
“Very.”
When his name was called, you cheered loudly enough to echo. “Doctor Spencer Reid!”
He glanced toward you while crossing the stage. You blew him a kiss. He nearly missed the dean’s hand.
Afterward, he found you waiting outside beneath a tree, still holding the flowers.
“You shouted.”
“You graduated.”
“Everyone looked at me.”
“That was the point.”
“You called me your boyfriend.”
“You are my boyfriend.”
“In front of approximately nine hundred people.”
“You counted?”
“Eight hundred and seventy-three.”
You smiled and pushed the bouquet into his arms.
He looked down at the sunflowers. “They’re too large.”
“You have four PhDs. You needed dramatic flowers.”
“I don’t think flower size is traditionally proportional to academic achievement.”
“It is now.” His mouth twitched.
You reached up and straightened the velvet hood around his shoulders. “I’m proud of you.”
The teasing faded from his face. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not to you.”
You touched his cheek. “But I wanted to be here.”
Spencer looked at you for a long moment. Then he leaned down and kissed you rather deeply, flowers crushed awkwardly between your bodies.
A familiar voice sounded behind him. “Well, well.”
Spencer pulled back. Morgan stood several feet away with JJ, Emily, Rossi, and Garcia. Apparently, Garcia had become suspicious of the phrase academic obligation, found Spencer’s name in Georgetown’s commencement program, and organized what she called an emergency team outing.
Garcia held a smaller bouquet and looked personally betrayed. “You have a girlfriend?”
Spencer glanced at you.
You glanced at him. “You didn’t tell them?” you asked.
Spencer looked at the team gathering around you. “I was trying to postpone exactly this reaction.”
Morgan scoffed. “You requested time off for an ‘academic obligation.’”
“It was accurate.”
“You got another PhD,” JJ said.
“Yes.”
“And you have a girlfriend,” Emily added.
“Yes.”
Garcia pointed at you. “A girlfriend who screams in auditoriums and buys appropriately theatrical flowers.”
“I like her,” Rossi said.
“You don’t even know me,” you replied.
“I know you embarrassed Reid in public. That’s enough.”
Spencer sighed.
Garcia hurried forward and hugged you before turning on him. “How long?”
“Six months.”
“Six months?” Morgan repeated. “You hid a woman for six months?”
“I wasn’t hiding her. I was protecting her from this.” He gestured toward Garcia, who still had one arm wrapped around your shoulders.
She gasped. “This is affection.”
“This is an ambush.”
“You also didn’t tell us you were graduating,” JJ reminded him.
Spencer adjusted the flowers in his arms. “Neither event required operational disclosure.”
You leaned toward JJ. “Does he always talk like this when he knows he’s wrong?”
“Yes,” she answered immediately.
“I am not wrong.”
“Four PhDs,” Morgan said. “Still can’t tell when he’s losing an argument.”
Garcia hooked her arm through yours. “You and I are getting coffee. I need the entire relationship timeline.”
Spencer caught your hand before she could pull you away. “No.”
Garcia gasped again.
“I brought her,” Spencer said.
“You did not,” Emily replied. “She found you.”
“That’s worse,” Morgan added.
You squeezed Spencer’s fingers. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”
His expression softened.
Garcia noticed. "Oh, he’s in love.”
Spencer’s face turned red.
Morgan grinned. “Now this was worth attending.”
You looked up at Spencer. “Are you going to deny it?”
He glanced at the team, the flowers, and the robe you had already taken three pictures of him wearing.
Then he looked back at you. “No.”
Your smile widened.
Spencer leaned down and kissed your forehead while Garcia made a sound somewhere between a sob and a squeal.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Maybe the ceremony was slightly important.”
You slipped your arm around his waist. “Happy graduation, Doctor Reid.”
Spencer looked down at the sunflowers, then at you. “I think I like this doctorate best.”
