summary: when a quiet afternoon of slacking off turns into a flirty exchange, the courage you only ever find behind the safety of the screen leaves you with a date for the evening
warnings: fluff, light teasing, reader being uncharacteristically bold, spencer being a tini tiny bit jealous, that's about it
wc: 1,1k
author's note: I haven't posted in well over a month and I'm so sorry! Life just got really busy, and I rarely have the time or energy for anything these days. But I'll do my best to stay as active as I possibly can. Thank you for your understanding, and I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a nice day!<3
p.s. this is barely proofread, so please excuse any typos
The bullpen was wrapped in a rare stillness, the kind of quiet that the rest of the team was using to finally catch up on overdue paperwork. On your monitor, the quarterly report had been sitting open for a solid thirty minutes — entirely blank. Instead, your focus was buried beneath a massive folder of documents, where a well-worn romance novel lay open.
You had just reached the exact moment where the main character finally realizes his feelings, your chest aching with a familiar, wistful envy, when a sudden flash from your computer screen shattered the daydream.
In the bottom right corner, the internal office messenger window popped up.
Unknown User: Reading on the clock again?
Your breath hitched, and your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
Hotch. It had to be.
A cold sweat broke out across your neck as you instinctively shot a guilty glance toward his office door. But a wave of relief washed over you as you remembered he was away at a briefing. Exhaling a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, you stared back at the screen, your mind racing.
Who could it possibly be?
Before you could think, another message flashed.
Unknown User: Another romance novel? ;)
You squinted at the glowing text.
You: Who is this?
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.
Unknown User: Who do you think it is?
You: Penelope?
Unknown User: Good guess, but no. Try again ;)
You hesitated, the tip of your tongue catching between your teeth. Normally, the mere thought of drawing attention to yourself made you want to shrink into your chair, but curiosity ultimately won.
You: Alright then, I need a hint.
The status line vanished. There was a pause on the other end, as if they were carefully choosing their words.
Unknown User: I know you’re re-reading the exact same page for the third time because you don’t want the book to end.
Oh.
Your hand froze over the mouse. Such a specific detail left absolutely no room for doubt. Granted, you were surrounded by people who read micro-expressions for a living, but there was only one person in this entire building who would actually care enough to notice something so small. Who would look at you long enough to count the pages turning.
Spencer Reid.
Usually, you were an absolute, tongue-tied mess whenever he came around your desk. You’d drop your pens, stutter over simple greetings, and spend hours agonizing over how awkward you must seem in the eyes of a literal genius.
But right now? Shielded by the monitor, a sudden, wave of boldness flooded your chest. He couldn't see your blushing cheeks right now. He couldn't hear your racing heart.
Before the rational part of you could take over, your fingers flew across the keys, fueled by pure adrenaline.
You: Hmm...Cooper?
The reply came almost immediately.
Spencer: No(
Spencer: And who even is this Cooper guy?
A quiet chuckle escaped your lips. Propping your chin in your hand, you couldn't stop the wide smile from stretching across your face.
You: A cute guy from the IT department. He helped me with the printer last week. And, by the way, he promised to stop by again today to check up on it.
The silence that followed was long.
You bit your lip to choke back a laugh, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird as you waited. When the text finally appeared, you could practically hear his voice in your head.
Spencer: I know a thing or two about technology as well. Actually, the mechanism of a standard office printer is incredibly simple, and I could have resolved your issue much faster than anyone from the IT department. You didn't necessarily have to call Cooper.
You: Doctor Reid, are you jealous right now? Or am I just imagining things? ;)
Spencer blinked at the screen, momentarily losing his train of thought. He hadn't anticipated this playful, flirtatious side of you — and if he was being entirely honest with himself, the sudden shift was making his own heart beat just a little too fast.
Spencer: I'm not jealous, I'm simply stating a fact that my qualifications allow me to solve such mundane problems.
You: Really? So your brilliant brain is capable of handling not just serial killers, but my temperamental ink cartridge too?
The typing dots flickered, vanished, and then appeared again. You held your breath, twisting the hem of your cardigan around your finger.
Spencer: I wouldn't use those exact words, but yes.
You: You sound awfully confident, Dr Reid. And what if I need help with something other than technology?
The exact second the message marked as delivered, reality crashed back in.
The digital shield shattered, and panic set in. Your chest tightened, a cold dread replacing the giddiness as the seconds ticked by without a response.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What were you doing? Had you pushed it too far? Had you completely misread a friendly joke and made things weird between you two?
You were just about to send an apology when three little dots appeared again.
Spencer: That depends on what kind of help you need. If it's something that requires...a private consultation, then after the shift ends, I am more than ready to offer my time. Just you and me. If you don't have any other plans, of course.
Your breath caught, jaw practically dropping as you stared at the screen.
Your brain scrambled, desperately trying to find some platonic, professional explanation for those words. But private consultation? Just you and me? There was absolutely no way to misinterpret this.
Spencer Reid had just asked you out.
Your hands were shaking so badly you had to take a long breath just to steady yourself. The playful confidence was gone, but you forced your fingers to type the words anyway.
You: Lucky for you, I don't have any other plans. So tonight, I'm all yours.
In the next room, a soft smile bloomed across Spencer's face, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. The spell was only broken when he caught Morgan looking at him from across the bullpen, a knowing smirk plastered across his face. Realizing he’d been caught red-handed, Spencer quickly ducked his head, hiding his burning face behind the safety of his monitor.
A quiet chime echoed from your speakers, snapping you out of your daze.
Spencer: Better put the book away now. Hotch will be back in twenty minutes.
You: No)
Spencer: Fine, but you have to tell me all about it over dinner. I need to know what kind of fictional man I'm competing against.
You: Deal. At seven by the exit.
You leaned back in your chair with smile tugging at your lips.
You were going on a date with Spencer Reid.
Garcia was absolutely going to lose her mind when she found out.
likes, comments, and reposts are always appreciated<3
summary: when a quiet afternoon of slacking off turns into a flirty exchange, the courage you only ever find behind the safety of the screen leaves you with a date for the evening
warnings: fluff, light teasing, reader being uncharacteristically bold, spencer being a tini tiny bit jealous, that's about it
wc: 1,1k
author's note: I haven't posted in well over a month and I'm so sorry! Life just got really busy, and I rarely have the time or energy for anything these days. But I'll do my best to stay as active as I possibly can. Thank you for your understanding, and I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a nice day!<3
p.s. this is barely proofread, so please excuse any typos
The bullpen was wrapped in a rare stillness, the kind of quiet that the rest of the team was using to finally catch up on overdue paperwork. On your monitor, the quarterly report had been sitting open for a solid thirty minutes — entirely blank. Instead, your focus was buried beneath a massive folder of documents, where a well-worn romance novel lay open.
You had just reached the exact moment where the main character finally realizes his feelings, your chest aching with a familiar, wistful envy, when a sudden flash from your computer screen shattered the daydream.
In the bottom right corner, the internal office messenger window popped up.
Unknown User: Reading on the clock again?
Your breath hitched, and your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
Hotch. It had to be.
A cold sweat broke out across your neck as you instinctively shot a guilty glance toward his office door. But a wave of relief washed over you as you remembered he was away at a briefing. Exhaling a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, you stared back at the screen, your mind racing.
Who could it possibly be?
Before you could think, another message flashed.
Unknown User: Another romance novel? ;)
You squinted at the glowing text.
You: Who is this?
The typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.
Unknown User: Who do you think it is?
You: Penelope?
Unknown User: Good guess, but no. Try again ;)
You hesitated, the tip of your tongue catching between your teeth. Normally, the mere thought of drawing attention to yourself made you want to shrink into your chair, but curiosity ultimately won.
You: Alright then, I need a hint.
The status line vanished. There was a pause on the other end, as if they were carefully choosing their words.
Unknown User: I know you’re re-reading the exact same page for the third time because you don’t want the book to end.
Oh.
Your hand froze over the mouse. Such a specific detail left absolutely no room for doubt. Granted, you were surrounded by people who read micro-expressions for a living, but there was only one person in this entire building who would actually care enough to notice something so small. Who would look at you long enough to count the pages turning.
Spencer Reid.
Usually, you were an absolute, tongue-tied mess whenever he came around your desk. You’d drop your pens, stutter over simple greetings, and spend hours agonizing over how awkward you must seem in the eyes of a literal genius.
But right now? Shielded by the monitor, a sudden, wave of boldness flooded your chest. He couldn't see your blushing cheeks right now. He couldn't hear your racing heart.
Before the rational part of you could take over, your fingers flew across the keys, fueled by pure adrenaline.
You: Hmm...Cooper?
The reply came almost immediately.
Spencer: No(
Spencer: And who even is this Cooper guy?
A quiet chuckle escaped your lips. Propping your chin in your hand, you couldn't stop the wide smile from stretching across your face.
You: A cute guy from the IT department. He helped me with the printer last week. And, by the way, he promised to stop by again today to check up on it.
The silence that followed was long.
You bit your lip to choke back a laugh, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird as you waited. When the text finally appeared, you could practically hear his voice in your head.
Spencer: I know a thing or two about technology as well. Actually, the mechanism of a standard office printer is incredibly simple, and I could have resolved your issue much faster than anyone from the IT department. You didn't necessarily have to call Cooper.
You: Doctor Reid, are you jealous right now? Or am I just imagining things? ;)
Spencer blinked at the screen, momentarily losing his train of thought. He hadn't anticipated this playful, flirtatious side of you — and if he was being entirely honest with himself, the sudden shift was making his own heart beat just a little too fast.
Spencer: I'm not jealous, I'm simply stating a fact that my qualifications allow me to solve such mundane problems.
You: Really? So your brilliant brain is capable of handling not just serial killers, but my temperamental ink cartridge too?
The typing dots flickered, vanished, and then appeared again. You held your breath, twisting the hem of your cardigan around your finger.
Spencer: I wouldn't use those exact words, but yes.
You: You sound awfully confident, Dr Reid. And what if I need help with something other than technology?
The exact second the message marked as delivered, reality crashed back in.
The digital shield shattered, and panic set in. Your chest tightened, a cold dread replacing the giddiness as the seconds ticked by without a response.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
What were you doing? Had you pushed it too far? Had you completely misread a friendly joke and made things weird between you two?
You were just about to send an apology when three little dots appeared again.
Spencer: That depends on what kind of help you need. If it's something that requires...a private consultation, then after the shift ends, I am more than ready to offer my time. Just you and me. If you don't have any other plans, of course.
Your breath caught, jaw practically dropping as you stared at the screen.
Your brain scrambled, desperately trying to find some platonic, professional explanation for those words. But private consultation? Just you and me? There was absolutely no way to misinterpret this.
Spencer Reid had just asked you out.
Your hands were shaking so badly you had to take a long breath just to steady yourself. The playful confidence was gone, but you forced your fingers to type the words anyway.
You: Lucky for you, I don't have any other plans. So tonight, I'm all yours.
In the next room, a soft smile bloomed across Spencer's face, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. The spell was only broken when he caught Morgan looking at him from across the bullpen, a knowing smirk plastered across his face. Realizing he’d been caught red-handed, Spencer quickly ducked his head, hiding his burning face behind the safety of his monitor.
A quiet chime echoed from your speakers, snapping you out of your daze.
Spencer: Better put the book away now. Hotch will be back in twenty minutes.
You: No)
Spencer: Fine, but you have to tell me all about it over dinner. I need to know what kind of fictional man I'm competing against.
You: Deal. At seven by the exit.
You leaned back in your chair with smile tugging at your lips.
You were going on a date with Spencer Reid.
Garcia was absolutely going to lose her mind when she found out.
having a lot of feelings about this one :') something about him sleeping with his backpack in the first one (zipped up) and in the second one leaving the backpack on the ground (unzipped)
pairing: pope cody x fem!reader ( no use of y/n )
summary: you're dragged to pope's boxing match, not having ever been told that he does this in his spare time and now you have to confront your fears and the fact that your boyfriend spends his time doing such a violent activity.
content warnings: established relationship, reader is implied to have had a bad past slash childhood, reader has a fear of yelling + anger, mention of blood and cuts, tw smurf!!!!!
a/n: hai my lovelies! i am back with my second pope fic!!! i haven't had this much fun writing for a character in ages <3 also i couldn't decide on whether i should refer to him as pope or andrew so now there's a mix of it. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3 credit to @cursed-carmine for the divider <3
wc: 4.9k
You hated the word naive, despite that, it felt simply too suitable for the person you were.
You were naive when you never asked Pope why he came home with bruises, and you were naive when you let it go after he blamed the job. When you chose to enter Smurf's vehicle, you were particularly foolish. You appeared to be, just like all her kids, susceptible to falling for her manipulative tactics.
And now that you were standing next to her chair, you figured that the only important thing to her right now was making you uncomfortable.
Unsure of your purpose in the hall of loud, angry men you turned your attention to the group around the boxing ring. This wasn't your scene in any shape, way or form. You didn't like loud noises, boxing and especially loud irate boxers.
Smurf knew that, which is why you made an effort to look normal, despite the men next to you cursing like they'd never been allowed to before. Like a baby you wanted to press your hands to your ears and hide in the corner.
"What are we waiting for?" you asked quietly.
"You'll see baby, you'll see," Smurf tilted her head as she observed the crowd with sharp eyes. Baby. That's how you knew something was wrong. She only ever used her saccharine voice combined with that nickname when she was out to get you.
Pope kept you far far away from her for precisely this reason. Why you and Pope almost never came to visit unless it was necessary for a job. You'd tried to tell him that he didn't have to go back to Smurf, that he could just work with his brothers, but he was adamant. So you let him, because you weren't one to tell Pope what to do.
You felt something stare into the side of your face and when you glanced to your left, you saw a disheveled man with a beer in his hand and a sick smile. You quickly straightened your back and moved closer to Smurf's chair, praying this would all end.
Andrew will be furious when he finds out, you thought, as you repeatedly started snapping your hair tie against your wrist over and over again. You shook your head to yourself. He won't have to find out...right?
This was all a mess. A mess Smurf was more than happy to create as she took a look at you. Nervous, uncomfortable and scared — she had you exactly where she wanted.
Your hands were itching to grab your earphones from your bag as soon as the first boxers were announced. When the first boxer entered the ring, men cheered and you turned your head away from the man's terrifying expression.
You, instead resorted to checking out the crowd. There was a small group of women, but they appeared to be just as bloodthirsty as everyone else. No one seemed as out of place as you did.
You pulled the edge of your shorts down, wishing you had brought a jacket with you. Who would've thought a boxing ring would be this chilly? Goosebumps were rising everywhere where your white sweetheart neck top wasn't covering your skin.
"Baby," Smurf said, and you felt your stomach turn at the nickname. "Look."
You felt the world tilt around you the moment you spotted Andrew sitting in the corner, hands covered in his boxing gloves. You watched him get to his feet, and move toward the center of the ring. He didn't see you, and you were glad for it. You were especially glad for it when you watched Andrew start beating his opponent.
Hit after hit after hit.
The crowd kept cheering, fists pumping in the air while your hands started shaking more by the second. It was when the opponent hit Andrews' face, that you turned and walked out of the ring. Not hearing Smurf's snake-like voice calling after you mockingly.
You walked and walked and walked, not even caring that Smurf had driven you here. She'd practically begged for your help on something, coming by you and Andrew's apartment. Sweet naive you thought, yeah, I'm sure she needs actual help. She hardly ever begged beg for anything. God, you had been so wrong. This was a sick, twisted game. Of course, it was.
You had no idea how or when you'd ended up in your apartment. You kicked off your ballet flats to the opposite side of the apartment, before sliding down the door.
Andrew was boxing in his spare time. Naturally the jobs had nothing to do with the bruises you spent all of your free afternoons tending to. He'd never been this hurt before. Why would he be now? You would've never thought he spent his free time raging and hitting people. That he was capable of this much force and anger. You could still see his face behind your eyelids, and you pressed the bottom of your hands harder against your eyes until stars replaced your boyfriend's bruised face.
Your head dropped to your knees as you sat there for ages and ages. Andrew lied to you. He has been lying to you for god knows how long.
You felt sick and even more, you felt guilty. Because you were terrified. Not only had he lied to you, but he'd also lied about being this violent. You hated how much that scared you. How much you wanted to cry.
You were aware that Pope wasn't a man of the most gentle nature, but he tried to with you.
In fact, he was at his most gentle with you. Sure, you'd seen a different side of him when he was with Smurf. In fact, that was seemingly his most aggressive side, but otherwise? Otherwise, he was the man who was so nervous on your first date, he didn't say a single word besides hello. The man who'd spent the first sleepovers at your place, lying on the edge of the bed, afraid of touching you, terrified of making you uncomfortable. You had spent so much time caring for Lena together, taking her out on ice-cream dates and getting to know what he was like as an Uncle. He spoiled you rotten.
You had never once uttered a dream of yours, without having it fulfilled promptly. Not only that, but you knew his most significant sacrifice had been his temper. He knew how much you struggled with raised voices, how you'd immediately shrink the moment someone directed their anger at you.
The first times, you'd somehow ended up in the same room as the Cody boys while they planned jobs, Andrew would just stand up and leave the room the moment someone disagreed with him. You still remember Craig's perplexed "What's up with him?" You'd questioned Andrew about it later that night, because as far as you'd been concerned, Craig had been rather unpleasant to him, you'd expected your boyfriend to fight back.
Andrew had simply pulled you closer to his chest in bed, brushing his palm along your waist. "Didn't want to make you sad." he'd muttered against your hair.
"What?" you'd asked puzzled, lifting your head off his chest.
"You don't like yelling. It makes you sad."
"You did that for me?"
"Of course." he'd said, eyebrows furrowed, because who else would it be for? For who else would he change such an integral part of himself? He'd been the brother with the temper since he could think. Pope, the boy who hit and yelled at everyone.
He'd changed himself for you,and not only that, he'd taken a jab at his pride for you, allowing his brother to corner him in front of everyone, and he had just let him. For you.
It made you feel horrible that he had to change himself for you, but he'd told you that he felt better about himself, like he was actually worthy of you. Your life was peaceful and domestic, interrupted by the occasional job which usually went down flawlessly.
It wasn't until Lena was back from the foster home and then put back in, that Andrew was different, and you'd just assumed it was because of him missing Lena. But it was all weird. He was different, came home with bruises and was more quiet than usual. But never ever any less gentle with you.
You hated that the sight of him in the boxing ring managed to erase every single tender touch of his. All you could hear was the shattering of the man's face as your boyfriend continued to hammer him.
Your boyfriend punched someone until they were bleeding raw on the floor, and he did it with such vehemence that you weren't sure you'd ever be able to get rid of the image. You'd heard chatter about his violent side from his brothers, and he'd told you about it himself, but witnessing it for yourself was different.
You slowly rose up on unsteady legs and walked towards the shower. The shower calmed you down. Hot water streaming down your body, helping you forget about Andrew for just a few minutes.
That was until you stepped back into your shared bedroom and instinctively reached for his clothes. You grabbed a shirt and his boxers, and when Andrew's scent hit your nose, you flinched. You stared down at his shirt, and you wanted to pull it off. Crack crack crack was all you could hear. The yelling of the men in your head cushioned the sound of Andrew opening the door.
You were about to pull his shirt off, grab one of your own pajama shirts instead, when Andrew gently tapped on the door not wanting to startle you. You still flinched, turning to see his face. And terror was written large there.
Smurf had told him.
You managed a tiny "Hi." but there was no smile or kiss. You merely stood next to the drawers, your hand returning back to your hair tie, snapping it against your wrist over and over again.
You knew Andrew was just as scared, his fingers were twitching nervously, as he stared at you. "Hey," he gently approached you and when you didn't step away, he drew even closer. He cautiously placed his bag down on top of the drawer, before turning to you.
There was a small band aid on his right cheek, and you felt your heart break when you realized it was the one you usually kept in your car in case of an emergency. He had clearly attempted to fix most of the wounds before entering your apartment so you wouldn't see how severely the other guy had injured him.
The fear was written big in his eyes. You almost wanted to just give in, but your mind didn't let you. Fear was gripping your body just as much as it was his. Seeing what he was capable of was freezing your body. It's like it never mattered that you loved him more than anything else in the world; your mind just insisted on replaying the boxing match on loop.
Andrew could tell you weren't going to come any closer to him anytime soon, so he closed his hands into fists, turning towards the bathroom. And you just let him. You could practically hear his heart breaking as he turned on the water, and you knew he had his head pressed against the tile, because that's what he always did when someone wrecked him.
You padded towards the kitchen, opened your freezer and grabbed some ice. Your brain was both empty and full, but it was largely packed with cruel words at yourself. You were horrible. You were terrible for shutting him out like this when he hadn't done anything to you.
But you couldn't help it. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, and you leaned your head back, trying to suck it up. You weren't supposed to be acting like this. You were a grown woman, not a child. You weren't supposed to resort to childish habits, making yourself small and shut down, stop talking. God, he didn't do anything, you kept telling yourself as you shut your eyes tight.
You didn't hear him approach you. "You want me to make you dinner?"
You turned, ice in hand and shut the freezer with your back. "No, not hungry," you replied quietly. You stepped closer, and could see Andrew's body freeze up as he waited for you to do something. You stretched out your hand with the ice. "For your bruises."
Andrew stared down at your hand before taking it carefully. "Thank you," he murmured, eyes glancing back up at you.
When he saw your hands trembling, he wanted to cry. He swiftly turned and walked back into the bedroom, before he could hurt you any further. You remained in the kitchen for a few minutes, before gradually following him. Sleeping on the couch was too much. You're safe with him, nothings wrong, he won't yell at you, you kept thinking, slowly padding back into the bedroom.
That's until you spotted his wet curly hair in the corner of your shared room, reaching inside his bag. "Are you packing?" you asked, confused.
Andrew straightened up, turning his body towards you. "I know what you saw today. And—" You could see him thinking about Smurf, anger rising in his throat. "And I'm sorry," he added, deciding not to acknowledge Smurf's existence.
"It's your hobby," you replied quietly. "I wish you'd just told me about it."
Andrew shook his head. "Not a hobby," he muttered, and then provided the only answer you needed. "Smurf," and it clicked. Of course, Smurf forced him into it.
Your gaze dropped back down to his bag. "You don't need to leave."
"I scared you."
"You didn't," you whispered.
"Don't lie to me." he scoffed, and you pursed your lip. Right.
You didn't look at him as you slipped beneath the covers of the bed. It was your only way of proving to him, and yourself, that you weren't scared.
He stared at you for a while, and you didn't glance at him. Instead, you pulled the covers up, reaching for his side and pushing the covers back. He stared at his side of the bed before he slowly slipped under them and pulled them up too. The two of you laid on your backs for a while, staring at the same ceiling.
There was no sweet touching, no shared gentle kisses, no Andrew listening to you ramble about your day, nothing.
You missed him, and you glanced down at his hand, lying above the cover, twitching nervously. You wanted to touch it, press a kiss against every bruised knuckle, but then you heard the groans of his opponent again and you shuddered against the bed sheets.
"The — the other boxer is fine," he said quietly. "I know it looked bad." He turned his head, the sheets rustling as he looked at you.
"It was bad." slipped out of your mouth, and you bit your lip hard.
You could practically feel the panic rise in him. "I know, but— he just had a couple bruises. He— he didn't even have to go to the hospital." He knew it was a low bar. So terribly low, but he needed you to come back to him. He couldn't lose you.
You stayed quiet and Andrew wanted to cry. This was bad. Of course, Smurf wouldn't even let him keep you. She'd take everything from him, this would always be the way his life would work. He thought maybe this time it would be different. This time he could change for you, And he did. He tried so hard to be different, but it was never enough. Nothing ever would be. It seemed there was something in him, something evil and dark, that scared everyone off.
"Did you win?" you asked, even though you knew the answer. Andrew stayed quiet and you knew. "You're good at what you do," you whispered.
What he does. Punch people? Hurt people? Make people bleed? Cause pain? Andrew didn't reply, staring at the ceiling.
He wanted to leave, and so he pushed the covers away, but you reached for his arm immediately, gripping his still-wet bicep. "Don't leave," you whispered, and he turned to look at you.
"You don't want me there."
"I didn't say that."
Andrew leaned his back against the headboard, and you sat up slowly, crossing your legs. He waited as he stared at you, expecting some explanation for your disorienting behavior.
"You scared me," you whispered, and you could see Andrew's finger twitch in his lap. You could see him itching to disappear. He'd scared you. He'd scared you.
He felt sick. "You just kept hitting him. Even when he was on the ground," you whispered. "And I know that's—that's how boxing works, but I'm just — I've never seen you like that," you stared at your hands in your lap, before looking up again, and this time you almost seemed mad at him, an emotion he'd almost never had directed at him from you before." You lied to me, Andrew." you gritted out through your teeth. "You've been lying to me for months."
Andrew looked away at that, feeling disgusted by himself. Foreseeing what was about to come he looked down at the soft covers under him, felt your warmth, that he could sense despite the space between you. His eyes glanced towards you, in your sweet and pretty pajamas, and he wished he'd appreciated this more.
Not that he hadn't before, but fear had always lingered in the background. Fear that he'd hurt you and that you'd leave him. That Smurf would take you. He wished he had just taken hours to just sit there, and live in the moment with you, push everyone away and just appreciate that you were here with him. He wanted to cry.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly again, avoiding your eyes.
You stared at him, and then you bit your lip, counting to ten. You could do this. This was your sweet Andrew. He'd never raised his voice at you, never. This is what you kept repeating over and over again to yourself, as you pushed the covers away.
Andrew watched you pad into the bathroom, heard you open drawers and close them, before you came back into the room, rounding the bed until you were on his side. There, you grabbed the ice he'd left on the night table, and handed it to him.
"Press it to your right temple," you murmured, and then you just climbed into his lap. One knee on each side of his thigh. His thigh twitched under yours nervously, and you had to hold yourself on his left shoulder to not fall off.
You carefully opened the first aid kit, keeping it on the bed. Your hand on his shoulder lightly traveled up to his face, turning it towards you, like he wasn't already staring at you. Andrew's hand fell limp against the bed, ice too. The bed sheets turning dark, as the ice melted.
Before he knew it, he was desperately reaching for your hips, pulling you closer. You were touching him. You were in his lap and you were taking care of him. You didn't leave. He felt his breath quicken, like he was about to cry.
Meanwhile, you wordlessly grabbed a cotton pad, applied some anti septic on it and pressed it lightly to his cheek. He could feel your hands shaking and how much strength it was taking you to not succumb to your fear. To not let your mind convince you to get into your car right now and just drive away.
Andrew let his hands travel up and down on your waist and under your shirt, squeezing your soft waist. You squirmed, when you felt his cold hands, but then relaxed into the oh so familiar touch. His calloused fingertips tapped your ribs restlessly as he watched you with his big hazel eyes.
You were so gentle and he was sure there were tears in his eyes. His eyes felt really warm and his throat felt tight. You stopped cleaning for just one second, eyes darting to his face, and you gave him such a sweet smile, that the tears dried immediately. You weren't leaving. You weren't leaving.
Once you were done, you set everything aside, and just slumped down in his lap, hands resting on his hard stomach.
"I'm sorry for letting Smurf drag me there." You avoided his eyes, ashamed of letting her manipulate you. You stared down at his stomach, wondering how blue and purple his ribs were. You'd probably hear him wince in his sleep all night. You never told him about this habit, worried about scaring him off.
"Not your fault."
You stayed quiet for a while, taking the chance to properly see how truly in pain he was. He was good at hiding it, but you knew Andrew. He wasn't going to wince, or cry out. He'd live in the pain and say he deserved it. That it's fine. That he hurt you and his opponent which meant he deserved to suffer.
You watched his big hazel eyes as they scanned you, watching you for every shift in your face. You felt sick that you'd done this to him, that you let Smurf do this to the two of you. Andrew had tried so hard to keep away from her twisted traps and yet you fell in anyways. Of course you did. You were vulnerable and sensitive and she knew that. You wanted to cry for the fact that he had to put up with her, and with you.
"I know I'm not easy," you whispered after a while, your voice breaking. "I'm sorry you had to—to change so many things about yourself because of me. And I'm sorry for all of this." You brushed a tear from your face. "I know it's not easy to deal with me and my -" you waved a hand in the air. "My sensitivity." You grimaced.
"I like dealing with you." Andrew said after a long pause, where he'd waited to see if you wanted to say anything else. He knows you hadn't always been heard by the people in your life, so he tried hard to give you the space you needed.
You chuckled wetly, and his lips lifted for a second. "I didn't change things about me." His eyebrows furrowed because he wasn't sure how you'd gotten there. "I'm just trying to be good. For you," he titled his head, trying to catch your eyes. "You don't like yelling, so I don't yell. You don't like fighting, so I don't fight." You shot him a look then, and he guiltily added. "In front of you."
He paused, finger tapping restlessly against your waist, making you squirm for a second. "I like being good for you. I can sleep better, and it makes waking up easier," he sounded so earnest, and you wanted to cry then and there. "I don't know what I'd do without you." he said slowly, as if also now comprehending how much you meant to him.
He squeezed your side anxiously. "I—I don't want you to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you, and what you saw today was just— it's not who I am when I'm with you."
It was silent for a while. You could hear an owl outside, waves washing against the shore and a dog barking. The waves calmed Andrew down, helped him sleep. Or at least that's what he told you. You weren't so sure now. He sounded so very sincere when he said he slept better with you.
You fixed a curl for him, lightly pushing it aside, before you dropped your hand again. "I don't want to see that again," you said in a low voice. "If you want—you can keep doing it, but I don't want to see it,"
Andrew shook his head. "I'll quit," he said, hands traveling up your waist again. "I'll get my money tomorrow, and I'll— I'll get you whatever you want, and I'll never do it again."
You didn't say anything and Andrew worried that he'd been too eager, too much. But then you finally spoke. "Do you like boxing?" You jabbed a finger into his chest. "Don't lie."
Andrew pressed his lips tight together. "I like—" he glanced up at you, worried that'll make your fear worse, make you scared of him even more, but you seemed so open to anything he had to say that he spoke the truth. "—hitting stuff." He finished the sentence. "I don't like to hurt people."
You nodded slowly as if you'd expected that answer and brushed a hand over his shoulder. "We'll use the money to get you a boxing set again. Punching bag, gloves, the whole thing," you pondered. "I think there's a great shop downtown for boxing equipment. I walked past it a bunch of times. We can set everything up in the backyard. That way you can hit stuff, but not hurt people,"
"That doesn't scare you?," he asked, already thinking how intense he got when he was allowed to hit stuff.
"I don't know," you went quiet again, toying with his neckline. "Maybe." Your eyes flickered up towards him. "I just—I don't like all that hitting stuff, you know?"
You looked terrified to be telling him this. So far, throughout your relationship, he's always had to pick up on it, never had you outright tell him. "And that combined with yelling?" You shook your head, already getting scared at the idea. "Just—just reminds me of bad stuff." You whispered. "And I know you won't hurt me like ever." You reassured him noting the way he was getting progressively nervous about the image you had of him in your mind.
"But it scares me that you could." It sounded so stupid to you. Like a child. But Andrew understood more than he let on. "That—That all this anger could one day be directed at me, that one day you'll just want to be this angry and violent with me." You brushed a tear away, before Andrew had the chance too.
He straightened up a bit, pulling you closer, as his hands traveled down to your hips. He was unsure how to say what he wanted to say. "I—I love you," he said, and your eyes shot to his.
You knew he did, but he oh so rarely ever did say it. He made you feel loved regardless, so you never had the desire to hear it constantly. It made it even more special, when he'd whisper it in bed after a rough day, and you were half asleep. So for him to say it so outright while you were staring him right in the eye, was special to say the least.
"I would never hurt you," he pressed his fingers harder into your hips, not enough to hurt you, as he thought about his next words. "You don't have to believe me, i just—I want you to know that I wouldn't."
He hated that he wasn't capable of saying more, that he didn't know how to, but when you smiled at him, all teary eyed and a soft smile, he knew he had done well enough. That his best, was always enough for you. That he never had to reach this impossible bar with you. That all you asked of him was that he minded your fears, the way you minded his.
"I love you too," you whispered, before your arms came around his neck, and you pressed your face into his warm body. His arms tightened around your waist, as he squeezed his eyes shut. You smelled like vanilla, and he finally felt his heartbeat slow down, as you scraped your fingers lightly against his still wet hair.
You were still worried you were being possessive, ripping him away from things he loved. That you were like Smurf, so you spoke, breath hitting his collarbone.
"You—you won't hate me for this, right?" you whispered. Andrew squeezed your waist.
"You're doing me a favor." he whispered, and he meant it. No boxing meant less guilt, less disgust for himself. He wouldn't have to lie to you anymore, and he wouldn't have to live in fear that you'd find out. He'd see Smurf less, and have to stop listening to her talk about what a bad influence you were on him. How he was getting soft with you, how his loyalty should always be with his family first.
Now he'd be able to hug you without hiding groans of pain, he'd be able to feel your gentle kisses across his face without having you be worried about his bloody cuts.
summary: after landing a new job as a secretary for the bau section chief Aaron Hotchner, the last thing you expected was to get swept off your feet by a handsome stranger on the first day‧₊˚✧
summary : spencer is on the hunt for a book that might help him crack a case. despite the heatwave, he'd walk through the whole city to get a very special bookstore owner's attention
word count : 1.8k
pairings : early seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader (meet cute)
notes : dual pov, inspired by s2ep8 "empty planet", where the unsub uses a sci-fi book as a prophecy. the heatwave is just self indulgent, and my swet glasses!reid is a sweaty and blushing mess
it was a hot day in seattle.
afternoons in late june felt inexplicably long, as if time was enjoying making spencer suffer from boredom during such cases. the sweat clinging to his skin, thepowerful burn of the sunlight on the almost melting concrete, it all made him wish he could be anywhere but here on a crime scene.
most people were busy welcoming the summer season. on this day of summer solstice, walking around the public garden or enjoying a picnic by the water, life seemed to have taken on a slow rhythm timed by the need for rest and relaxation.
no one could've possibly guessed the city was under a bomb threat.
back at the police department, when the team gathered around the makeshift conference room with no AC, he swore he could feel his braincells decompose. there was no way he was making it to the end of the day in that lifesize oven.
this is why he practially jumped up when hotch sent him on the hunt for a particular book. some obscure science fiction novel he must've mumbled about in a heat caused haze.
at least he got to be outside.
the first bookstore he saw was the one that caught his eye.
a few blocks near the park, between a coffee shop and a vintage store, was a ridiculously old building that looked straight out of an animated movie. the bricks were cream colored, hidden behind leaves of ivy and numerous flower pots that were somehow surviving the heatwave.
he was glad to have a reason to go in.
usually, he drove past bookstores and libraries he dreamed to visit in the black sedan, and could only promise himself he'd go once the case was over, which almost never happened.
the little bell above the wooden door made a clear noise when he pushed it open, stepping into the cozy atmoshpere. the first thing that hit him was the freshness of the air - slightly smelling of the distinct scent of books he loves so much, and a hint of something sweeter.
lavender, maybe. he too, a look around.
it wasn't too vast of a space, but the aisles weren't narrow either. rather welcoming, inviting, books on the shelves stacked just right in a way that scratched his neurodivergent brain.
naturally, he felt compelled to profile the person who owned the place.
his eyes roamed over the titles of the books as he took a couple of steps further. the titles were highlighted by the giant windows, that bathed the store in sunlight. yet, the temperature was more than delightful.
"looking for anything in particular ?"
someone said right behing him.
it took him a moment to realize the saccharine words were destined to him. he was the only one to be book shopping of all things, on this blazing day.
"i'm just looking around, thank y-" he turned to face her and gesture the shelf in front of him - the book he was searching for on full display - but froze.
she was beautiful, the girl standing before him.
suddenly, the outside heat felt like nothing compred to the one spreading on his cheeks, shades of pink matching those of her flowy sundress. it almost reached the floor, cascading down your hips where the fabric hugged her skin.
staring, he was staring. get a grip, reid.
"yes, actually." the lie came out smoother than intended. good, a semblance of dignity in front of such an ethereal presence was all he hoped for. "is that... the fiction aisle ?"
"yes, all the way to that shelf over there" she pointed to the opposite side, her smile rather amused than anything.
real smart, genius.
for someone who was searching for a book, he didn't make it sound like he even knew how to read. the sign just above his head listed the different sections of the bookstore, how pathetic.
she added kindly, her hand smoothing the fabric of the dress - the dress of the undoing. "but we also have a vast selection of non-fiction books over there, and a little cafe area"
"o-okay."
"if you need something fresh to cool down, or..." she shrugged, and it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. kindness radiated out of her so easily, he wanted to say yes desperately.
or at least to say something, anything.
but on top of forgetting how to read, he'd also seemed to have lost his speaking abilities.
so he did what perhaps was the most insensitive thing to do and grabbed the book from the shelf, muttering something along the lines of a poorly enunciated thank you before heading to the checkout.
sliding behind the counter, their fingers brushed when she took it from him gently, giving him the change in return.
"you'll like it," she spoke, carefully placing it in a brown paper bag. "it's not my favorite genre, but the plot unfolds pretty nicely."
he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and manages to say.
"not mine either, really. it's for scientific purposes, but i usually stick to classics or true crime novels"
"me too !!" she says enthusiastically.
as he took the bag from her, it appeared to him that small talk might be the closest thing he'd ever get from her, and suddenly regreted the way he dismissed her out of nervousness.
"this place is nice,"
she looks up, smiling at the compliment. not bad, he thinks, does he sound too eager ?
"thanks you, i’ve been working here for a while... not alone, usually, but it’s hard to attract people with that heat”
“not for you,” he answers, instantly biting his lip.
“what ?”
attract as in interest, in books. shoot, the haze in his mind was completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced and made him stupid.
“i mean, uh… you’re great. a great salesperson, basically. you’ve got the social cues down”
she let out a genuine chuckle, closing the cash register as the coins clinked.
“don’t you ?”
“no, not really…" he hints at in a bashful tone, slightly shifting positions to lean against the counter in an attempt to appear nonchalant.
the rays of the sun are filtering through the glass, hues of gold spreading around her, reminding him of an angel's halo. bright is the smile she gives him, the magnetic field around her promting him to get closer, closer.
"there's nothing wrong with choosing books over people, trust me" she says as she hands him the bag.
"less disappointing"
he nods, brain too focused on how they almost touched for the second time today. outside, the hot weather is almost nagging him, knowing he'll have to rush back to the police station. spend his day locked in yet another enclosed office, bathing in the discomfort of his own sweat and loneliness.
but he should be getting going.
so, reluctantly, he disappears with an ironic sound of the silver bell as the door closes.
every step he takes is unsure and reluctant, as if his body contemplated betraying him by turning back around. the urge was too strong, similar to the desire he felt to be near you, the scent of sugar and roses you emanated.
except the bell rings not too long later.
you had barely found the time to catch your breath - that had been taken away by the handsome boy on aisle three earlier this morning, the only person in the whole town who’d actually thought it would be smart to come here today of all days - that the sharp sound was heard again, pulling you out of your daydreams.
rays of sunlight hit your eyes, his figure appearing like a mirage in the light.
“you’re back,” you exhaled breathlessly.
quickly, you got up from the shelf you were rearranging. kids picture books, sorted by themes instead of colours.
“i’m back,” he said at the same time.
your brows met halfway, nerves wracking. surely, you couldn’t have spent so much time reading under your breath, nostalgic about your favourite childhood book.
a gasp escaped from your lips.
“you didn’t like the book ? no. it was the wrong one ? what’s wrong ? i forgot the change ?”
shy stranger chuckled again, a sound you couldn’t get enough of. “no, it was the right book and you got everything right.”
“then what ?”
frankly, you could’ve forgotten a dollar or two. it happened often when your preference for literature over maths showed. or when a handsome client with eyes of gold showed up.
“actually… i finished it.”
somehow, he looked bashful.
like it was a truth he hated to admit, disguising the unique parts of him under a joking tone he didn’t quite master. crossing the store to approach you tentatively as if you were in the middle of something, his eyes never left yours.
“the book ?”
“yes, the book.”
stupid question. and incredibly intelligent man, or so it seemed.
his mouth opened once before he spoke, gathering the whirlwind of thoughts as they rushed through his mind.
“twenty thousand words per minute. that’s my usual reading speed,” he explains, like it’s the most natural thing ever.”
“if you minimise factors such as the environment or time of the day. usually, my brain is more active in the early morning.”
you nod along.
“so,” in an attempt to understand, you put your hands on your hips. the little dimple on your right cheek is probably showing, you think. it always does when you’re intrigued.
he almost stares, you notice before he says again.
“so, i was wondering if you had any recommendations. you said classics, right ?”
classics.
jane austen, dostoevsky, maybe some hugo or brontë. the energy he brought felt like a calm breeze, a yearning soul perhaps. looking at his hazel eyes and tall frame felt like discovering a puzzle part you didn't know was missing.
oh, you had plenty of suggestions for him. questions too popped up in your mind as he leaned against the shelf, tilting his head in silent obsrvation.
caramel curls were sticking to his temples, rebelling from the way they'd carefully been pushed back earlier.
he took the silence as an opportunity to ask, round eyes pleaing. "you said something about fresh drinks ?"
the world seemed to stop when you giggled, his inner thermostat skyrocketing.
that's what it was.
it was the expression on your face he wanted to decipher.
your thoughts that he truly wanted to read.
"sure, i'll get you some iced tea" flowing dress creating a delicate movement at every step, you made your way to the coffee station.
"right, i'll just... wait here"
books, fresh air, you. eveerything here seemed perfect, he never wanted to leave, followed you after a couple of seconds as if a magnetic force had pushed him to.
the rest would just have to wait.
౨ৎ if you liked this, try reading you're in my way now
tag list, feel free to comment if you wanna be added/taken off !! @deerfawnn @xervoxs @kaz-03 @cynbx @sleepysleepnomore @emerkinsella89 @sweetheartspence @g4rvez-r3id @peanutalergy @keirareidss @eternlmoonshine @xbluereid @spencilweidblog @corollaim @mostofmeghan @siriuslyval03 @midn1ght-ra1n @rose-of-the-grave @copper-rose-strings @irisinlovee @thecrimsonfog @glossiercheek @littleredwolfnerd @babywinter @1-800-peakyblinders @reidslovegia @sreidahgirl @jjellecubed @sreidahgirl @cherrygarcia-07
summary : two universes collide when spencer has to watch the team meet his workplace crush, called in from another branch for her decryption skills - and he doesn't really like sharing.
word count : 2.3k
pairings : spencer reid x FBI!reader (workplace romance)
notes : there is such thing as the intelligence branch !! spencer is very jealous and it shows, modern romance would say they're at that point in the talking stage where they still won't aknowledge eachother irl
working for the FBI had its perks.
mostly social, you had to admit. certain jobs, tough you weren't exactly sure why, carried prestige. the prestige you felt when over drinks on first dates or small talk with old friends, someone asked what you did for work.
you could've been a linguistic analyst anywhere else, the years of studies and countless research papers you'd worked on would've earned you nothing but eye rolls and judgemental stares.
curiously, with the acronym of FBI came instant gratification. federal bureau of investigation, the magic words that earned compliments and sometimes mocking gasps.
how does it feel to work for the government ?
you're part of the Intelligence Branch ? of course, you're so smart.
the best perk however, apart from the thrilling feeling pulsing through your veins that came with having a purpose, worked three floors above you at the behavioural analysis unit.
with his tall figure and soft cozy looks, spencer reid didn't look like he belonged in this world either. united by the feeling of standing out in the crowd, or rather feeling invisible between individuals with a stern appearance and a sterile heart, you two connected.
a workplace crush, that's all he was.
a really awfully good looking guy who had once blushed at your words when you rode the elevator with him and filled the silence by complimenting his thesis.
of course you knew who he was.
if he were to step a foot on in your department, you were pretty sure applause would echo off the walls. this guy had done more fore crime solving using linguistics than your entire team ever had, and his endless knowledge sort of terrified you.
and maybe since then, he'd started to use the east wing elevator abnormally often. and maybe you'd exchanged numbers. for the sole purpose of keeping eachother in the loop during important cases, of course.
and maybe you were tired today because you'd spent all night exchanging texts, and your brain was beginning to turn into mush from the hours of sleep it'd been denied in the previous weeks.
all because of the boy who stood on the other side of the room from you right now, with his arms crossed and brows knit together while he listened to something the unit chief was saying.
"the unsub we're looking for seems to be leaving hidden messages on the crime scenes," agent hotchner explains, not bothered in the least by the number of people hanging onto his every word.
then, he adds.
"the letters have been collected, and as of now they're our primary focus. we believe an in-depth analysis might help us with the profile."
all around the bullpen, the air was charged.
agents taking notes while the team just stood there, shoulders high and gazes unwavering, like a silent affirmation of their superiority.
you wouldn't have appreciated it, the condescendance lingering in the air, aiming to make you and your colleagues feel somewhat impressed.
not if it wasn't for spencer.
the boyish brunette who was leaning against a desk - his desk you presumed, based on the precise alignement of the books displayed - whose eyes on you could be felt from miles away.
prentiss spoke up next, arms crossed in authority.
"with this guy, danger is imminent. he's escalating, and that's why we called the IB. we need more experts on the case."
something the woman said didn't quite register in your mind, your attention focused on keeping your gaze away from spencer.
a blonde one you recognized as penelope led you to the conference room, and you simply followed like a stray puppy yearning to get his owner back.
no one needed to know.
not as the team gathered around the round table, specifically asking you to join the meeting in hopes of receiving your expertise. in the room of qualified profilers trained to spot miscalculated glances and fleeting touches, with eyes like lasers piercing through the illusion of lies, you had to pull yourself together.
spencer made it a difficult task.
“i was thinking i could quickly go through all the letters the unsub wrote to try to find a pattern. i'd just need access to the archive room to find old files, i've worked through a similar case before.”
quick words, evidently suggested like he’d invented the alphabet himself. you almost smiled when you remembered something he said two days ago, in that exact same nonchalant tone.
“studies prove key elements such as sharp angles, uneven pressure or stilted writing can reveal traits linked to psychopathy." he adds, apparently finding the watch around his wrist more interesting than you, sitting across from him.
hotch asserted himself once more.
"actually, the bureau wanted the input of a real language analyst for this task," he said, sharp jaw nodding in your direction. the focus in the room shifted on you as he said your name.
the smile you gave felt forced, pressured by the half a dozen pair of eyes on you. only one made your heart beat faster for all the wrong reasons, and they belonged to the one who knew you as more than a name on a badge, a piece of chess in the game.
"morgan, you'll help her with the profiling. everyone else, i need you on the field"
morgan ?
the man in question gave you a welcoming grin, and though you were hoping for someone else, you nodded in return. for some reason you swore you heard spencer swallow, adam's apple sticking out, and you felt your a slight pinch of something that almost tasted like disappointment.
you weren't a profiler.
you couldn't have known - and he was grateful for that - that the reason he kept his gaze down and hands to himself came from an irrational part of his brain he didn't know existed.
the one that was jealous.
so he gathered his files and abruptly got up, leaving you with morgan as the rest of the team headed back to work, without even looking back.
turns out the dark skinned man had more to himself than flirtarious smiles. you two worked side by side all morning and he helped you delve into the files.
and before you knew it, you'd managed to keep spencer in the back of your mind for hours.
at lunchtime, while snacking on a granola bar, you caught yourself rambling about the meaning of commas in the unsub's letters. your excitement was contagious.
"gee," derek laughed, cutting you off with a chuckle to remind you he couldn’t keep up.
"you're like a female version of reid or something."
you stopped chewing. looked up, alerted. attempted to wipe away some unwanted crumbs and dreamy grin that had appeared on your lips a little too naturally.
"i'll take that as a compliment."
"trust me, pretty girl" he said, giving you a reassuring wink that might've led you to think he knew more than he let on, "that's a compliment."
the door opened.
he stared. spencer.
files in his hands and mouth opened like he was about to say something but lost all ability to form proper words when he heard the exchange. you felt your hands tighten around the empty plastic wrapper.
morgan’s head turned towards you, then reid.
the tension was painfully obvious, he’d heard the last two sentences and that was already more than enough. a little too interested in the newbie to realise his friend was just being welcoming.
“i was just coming here to say we found a new body with another note displayed on the crime scene,” spencer spoke after what felt like ages. he still didn’t look at you.
“-but i guess you’ll do a great work without it, since you make such a great team.”
morgan whistled, attempting to ease the tension with yet another uneeded comment.
“woah, someone’s jealous.”
with a friendly pat on spencer’s very much tense arm, he left, leaving you and your male copycat in a very awkward situation.
suddenly, the conference room felt smaller.
the space, tight. tighter than the shirt sticking to your skin you suddenly felt trapped in. droplets of sweat clung to the back of your neck and you kept your chin down, eyes piercing through the documents laid out on the table.
he didn’t move, not until he cleared his throat and closed the door behind him. “i didn’t know your intention was to befriend the whole BAU," he snarked.
"i didn't know you had such a problem with me being in your life."
your sharpness made him flinch. daring words, toying with the feeling in his heart he was too much of a coward to properly name. nobody he'd ever met had acted this way towards him. with brutal honesty, confronting him with raw emotions he'd be tempted to conceal.
spencer's eyes were locked onto yours when you spoke. he looked vulnerable in this light, but the anger bubbling beneath his ribs didn't stop him from saying.
"i- that's not what i meant" he stuttered, looking both confused and indignated.
you'd pushed your chair out of the way to get up, almost reaching his height now. there was no escape from this conversation - and you'd very much rehearsed it in your mind anyway. now was time for the real deal.
"i think you did,"
of course, in your head, it wouldn't happen here, out of all places. feelings didn't match well with your work, and now in the conference room was far from the appropriate time.
"i think you're jealous" you affirmed with confidence, crosing your arms to prove your point, "jealous of the fact that i was assigned the task, and that derek had to supervise and not you."
gee, even hearing you call him by his first name made him boil.
"m’not jealous. i have three PhDs”
you laughed. indeed, even with academic degrees up his sleeves, he could still be very oblivious.
“not of the case, idiot.”
he knew what you meant.
and paused. swallowed again.
you bit your lip in waiting, almost facepalming yourself at the honesty of your words - you got that way when you were nervous. and you were really nervous now.
“i don’t think i’ve ever been jealous before.” he said, to himself more than you.
never had he encountered someone to be jealous of. he had the brains, the world seemed to like him. see something even he couldn’t sometimes. he was never jealous of the living because he spent most of his time in a world of his own.
and then he met you.
“there’s a first time for everything” you said with a reassuring smile, much softer now. time for trust, trusting someone and allowing them to see behind the illusion. for love, and letting someone in.
barely blinking, your mesmerising eyes are deeply focused on his now.
“i don’t think i liked it, though.”
“being jealous ?”
he nods, admitting. “you’re smart. and so good at what you do, i swear you made the room light up when you walked in.”
the distance between your bodies fades as he takes another step towards you. he nervously talks with his hands.
“and you could be a profiler !” he lets out, “i’ve never met anyone from another department who has enough talent to hypothetically join a higher rank and willingly refuses to even think about it.”
your lips part, a silent gasp.
“and it just hurts to see you here- here with everyone being so…”
the curious angle of your head makes him smile when you question. “so what ?”
“so perfect !”
it almost pains him to admit it. that the beauty you exude makes him ache, tugging at his sensitive heartstrings more often than he’d like to admit. when the elevator door close, or late at night while staring at his phone in hopes of engraving the pixels or your texts in his brain, he admires the closest to perfection the universe has ever created.
you.
"spencer," you let out in an amused giggle. "i'm not interested in your friends. or your job, for that matter."
he puffs some air into his cheeks, bashful. "i know. my brain just... likes to stop working when you're around, or something."
right, or something. with a playful nudge of the arm, you add.
"i am interested in you, though"
his eyes widen, pupils dilating. the little amount of oxygen left in the room is enough to make him slightly choke, which he covers by his hand. germ thing, sure.
"in me ?"
"yeah." someone has to say it, and you will if it means putting an end to the wrenching state of not knowing what you are. "-if you are, that is. unless i completely misunderstood the situation and you're actually jealous of my linguistics diploma-"
he calls your name, almost offended "i speak four languages !"
"i speak five. not that we're counting"
no bother mentionning you're also learning two. he's overwhelmingly close to you, and the smell of his cologne makes you melt little by little.
he utters quietly. "see ? perfect."
there's not exactly much he could do to make this conversation better. like, better than any debate you had over the phone, and yet he adds.
"i really am interested. and i'd like to see you sometimes... outside of work"
"and the elevator"
he laughs. a genuine sound you could get drunk on, and with a rush of adrenaline, reaches forwards to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
"just us. on a date. no work and no elevators involved, i promise"
jealousy looked good on him, earlier when he came in with clenched fists and a dark gaze. but nothing, no other expression could match the one he was wearing on his face. pools of hazel softened around the edges, spencer looked truly enamored.
and that ? that looked even better.
tag list, feel free to comment if you wanna be added/taken off !! @deerfawnn @xervoxs @kaz-03 @cynbx @sleepysleepnomore @emerkinsella89 @sweetheartspence @g4rvez-r3id @peanutalergy @keirareidss @eternlmoonshine @xbluereid @spencilweidblog @corollaim @mostofmeghan @siriuslyval03 @midn1ght-ra1n @rose-of-the-grave @copper-rose-strings @irisinlovee @thecrimsonfog @glossiercheek @littleredwolfnerd @babywinter @1-800-peakyblinders @reidslovegia @sreidahgirl @jjellecubed @sreidahgirl @cherrygarcia-07
summary: you're Spencer Reid's wife during the prison arc. He's been through difficult times, and when he comes back from prison, he's different…
tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, post prison! Spencer, wife! Reader
w/c: 458
song fic, inspired by my one and only love by mon laferte. listen to the song here
My dear love
I know you have some scars
They will heal with time
We’ve learned all our shades
Ah, ah, ah
I know they'll heal with time
Spencer Reid who's always been gentle and sweet, now is tough. Not the aggressive type, just not reachable…
You try to get close to him but he's not… receptive.
He doesn't come back emotionally to you immediately.
You're patient, endlessly so… but seeing him like that breaks your heart.
He stays away not because he doesn't love you but because he's buried down in his head…
You know he constantly blames himself for putting you and Diana in danger.
There's no reason not to love you like I love you
Reason
We will be all right
We won't cry
You keep trying everyday, you reassure him. You talk to him even when he's quit and out in his mind.
He's been far away from you… at work. He's been pushing himself aside. And you know it is because his job is the only thing he can control right now.
You know he feels anger. A lot. Nevertheless he's never been mean to you. At least not on purpose.
But he notices how much he hurts you and he feels worse. Though you never say a word. You just give him space.
He knows he's losing you, he can tell it when you let your arms fall down your body every time you fail to hug him.
You're getting used to his absence. You're getting used to not feeling warmth from your own husband.
That emotionally breaks you both.
He doesn't know how long you would handle this situation, so does he.
Dressed in white, I waited at the altar
You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of
My love
My one and only love
“I’m sorry,” he says one night in a quiet voice.
“What?”
“I've left you alone this whole time…”
You don't answer, because you know exactly what he means. You look at him, and for the first time he doesn't look away.
“Spence…” you say with tenderness in your voice. “Remember you're my husband. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse, until death do us part.”
“Do you still love me?”
You reach for him. You put your arms around him, softly. Like if he was a kind of savage animal who's afraid of contact.
“Of course I do, you're my love. My one and only love.”
My dear love
We will be a safe space
Time shall pass
We have many possible futures
Getting back your husband as he was may not be easy, but you love him anyway. You'll work through it. Because he's everything you've ever asked for.
summary : spencer hints at the need to change himself to be deserving of love, but why would he compare himself to others, and who is he trying to impress ?
word count : 1.2k
pairings : spencer reid x bau!reader (idiots in love, workplace romance)
notes : pretty boy worries about his fitness test and falls for the promotion of toxic masculity, glowups and looksmaxxing... morgan's fault ? mentions of a high protein diet and yes i cringed writing this, who's gonna tell him we love an adorable skinny nerd ?
there were a lot of bad days at the BAU.
obviously, the place wouldn't run without the existence of negativity in the world. the everlasting presence of crimes, death, meant there were inevitably going to be a lot of bad days. victims you won't save in time , unsubs you won't catch, it was something all members of the team were at peace with by now.
there would be bad days, terrible ones even, but the sun would rise again the next morning, bright and announcing hope. another chance at making the world a better place.
the bad days at the BAU, the one spencer reid truly feared until his heartrate sped up and his breath caught in his throat, were a bit more silly. he'd grown up not to let himself be afraid of anything, except one.
the fitness tests.
"good morning, spence !"
when you entered the tiny kitchenette space to make your ritualistic daily coffee, your voice sounded cheerful. oat milk, lots of ice and a dash of vanilla syrup. iced latte was your fuel, and spencer didn't need to turn around to see look. he knew the way you liked it by heart like a catchy melody stuck in his head. he felt your presence in the room before you even spoke.
the lack of reaction made you frown when no one greeted you in return.
"morning," he answered simply. his hair looked particularly soft and ridiculously good in the way he'd decided to style it today - brushed back, curls rebelling agaisnt gravity - but you wished he'd turn around to hand you your mug. just like he always did.
today, he didn't.
the ice cubes hit the bottom of the glass and clinked, highlighting the unusual silence stretching between you. his shoulders looked slumped from behind, and you couldn't help but crane your neck to look over his tall figure.
it wasnt coffee he was drinking.
in his personal labeled mug, the one that had its spot on the shelf next to yours for convenience and unspoken rules - the first one to arrive makes coffee for two - was some sort of sloshy, pale mixture.
"holy fuck, what is that thing ?" you exclaimed in a voice too high for his sensitive self. too early to be the center of attention, too.
"nothing. i mean it isn't nothing, but it's nothing important"
judging by the knot your brows formed, he could tell you'd never accept to drop the subject.
"i have my fitness test this afternoon, i got the email last week and... i don't know, i guess it's not exactly a moment i look forward to."
"oh... none of us do, really."
your answer is simple, not inconsiderate. he knows you too well to be sure the latter would've included an eye roll and some giggling.
you move to the tiny fridge to find the bottle of oat milk kept on the top shelf, and feel the need to break the silence. "and drinking vomit is the best form of suicide you came up with ? babe, you could've made it work with the toaster"
there it is, the confirmation. you don't take him seriously, never have and probably never will.
"it's not vomit !" he retorts, crossing his arms to show how offensed he was. "it's a shake. with fruits and stuff... and protein as well"
by the sudden tilt of your head, lips parting and hand stilling mid pour, spencer felt his cheeks burn.
"they're full of micronutrients and can provide an energy boost, especially in the morning which is great for-"
"i know what a smoothie is, reid."
he looks down bashfully. “of course you do… i’ll let you have the space”
taking a couple steps to the right to give you the privilege of having the counter space, the conversation quietens when he sees you stare, dumbfounded and curious.
“this isn’t you.” you say in matter of factly tone. nothing is easier than knowing him. “you hate cold drinks…”
even coffee, actually. your beloved ice cubes you luckily always find in the freezer don’t interest him. and even though he’d never tell you he’s the one to refill the mold behind your back, he’d rather drink the coffee scalding hot.
“i do, but morgan recommended it.“
you sigh, rolling your eyes. “of course he did. what for, you know you could run backwards and the bureau would still keep you. you’re an asset to our team”
the little dimples of his you love so much make an appearance under the neon lights of the kitchenette, and you decide to keep going.
“morgan is just a cocky flirt.” your arms cross, droplets of condensation forming on the outside of the glass.
“aaaaand if you want my opinion, he’s probably suffering from some undiagnosed bigorexia. which to be honest, is really common in men”
not spencer, though. never spencer.
instead he shifts on his feet, and the distance between you seems like too much as a tight feeling in your chest urges you to protect him from all external forces.
“it’s not exactly like he forced me to do anything.” he retorts under his breath.
“i just think maybe… maybe i could put on some muscle. to be more efficient on the field.”
but his eyes are soft.
his eyes are soft as he opens up to you, the only person who ever listened. his slender fingers linger next to you, on the handle of the utensils drawer, and he looks like an absolute dream without even realising it.
when every breath and step he takes nearly undo you, how on earth could he possibly think he’s not enough.
“you’re perfect.”
those oh so perfect brown eyes look up and you melt.
“coffee is too good to be replaced with a bland protein shake you don’t even like. and you get too cranky when you’re lacking caffeine.”
it all comes to you naturally, too naturally. the reassuring words. the protective feelings when it comes to your beloved colleague.
“you hate exercise and there’s not a single reason why you should force yourself to do something you don’t enjoy for the purpose of changing yourself. it’s silly.”
swiftly you grab the handle of the mug with one hand and flick his forehed with the other.
"ouch- hey !" he exclaims in a high pitched voice. "what's that for ?"
“bringing you back down to earth. seriously,” the first sip you take is cool, the ice slightly melted already. “it’s not worth it.“
seconds pass before he actually says something, rubbing the spot you just hurt to make you feel bad about it.
now, his eyes find yours again. it doesn’t take a trained profiler to notice the change of posture.
“it does sound stupid when you say it like that…” he admits, chin higher and lips pursed.
you laugh, a full on burst of laughter at his self awareness.
“because it is. it’s so- unlike you.”
quieter, the sound of his chuckles mimic you. something warm contrasting with the iced drink you sip on.
“it’s not. i’m actually dying for a chocolate donut right now.”
this isn’t who he is.
the guy who cares about his physique more than anything and bends to society’s expectations. and amongst the false excuses he made and lies he tried to give you, you saw the truth immediately.
spencer is spencer. the guy who likes his coffee black with a donut on the side and calls it breakfast. he knows how you like your coffee and trades the opportunity to sleep in for more time with you in the morning.
and he is, in your eyes, the closest to perfect that there's ever been.
