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athenxt · 3 days ago

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athen youve done it again 🥺🥺🥺🥺

the domesticity of it all is just beautiful and perfect, i love that hazel js such a social little kid and is the cutest ever 😣😣😣

i cant believe this is the first time you wrote spencer as a girl dad bc you did it so wonderfully and perfectly within his character!!!!!! not only that but their relationship is just so simple but effective, like you can see that domestic life has settled in them for the better 💔💔💔💔

hii athenaaa!! i have a request for uuu that has been on my mind for a little.. could you do a spencer reid x fem!reader in which they’re both parents of a little boy or girl you could pick im fine with any!! and it’s basically just like a normal day with them? does that make sense? i hope it does! im not so good at explaining, i really tried to do my best here though. you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to i would fully understand!! okay that’s it’s byebyeeee

- 🌷

routine — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: girldad!spencer , just cute fluff a/n: i might've been gotten carried away with this </3 this is my first dad!spencer fic ever, sooo please keep that in mind while reading <3

You shifted slightly in bed, your leg draped lazily over Spencer’s hip. "Spence," you mumbled, nudging him gently. "Get up. It’s your turn."

Spencer groaned into his pillow, burying his face deeper as if that alone could shield him from responsibility. Your leg slipped away from him as you rolled slightly onto your back, but before you could fully retreat, his hand shot out, fingers curling around the back of your knee and tugging it back over his hip. You huffed a laugh, eyes still stubbornly closed. If you opened them, you’d officially be more awake than he was.

"Hazel is expecting pancakes," you reminded him, voice muffled by the pillow you’d half-smothered yourself with.

Spencer finally cracked one eye open, squinting at you. "You do them, then," he yawned, stretching slightly, watching your face for any sign of surrender. You didn’t budge.

He sighed, already picturing the inevitable scene, Hazel’s big, hopeful eyes, the way her little feet would patter impatiently against the kitchen tile, the dramatic sigh she’d inherited from him when her breakfast wasn’t magically ready the second she woke up. With reluctance, he peeled back the covers. Before getting up, he lifted your hand, the one that had been resting on his chest and pressed a sleepy kiss to your knuckles before letting it drop back to the mattress. You smiled, just a little, still pretending to be asleep.

Spencer paused in the doorway of the bathroom and shot over his shoulder, "I saw that smile." You didn’t answer. By the time he finished brushing his teeth, you were already asleep again.

Thirty minutes later, the scent of pancakes filled the kitchen. Spencer stood at the stove, his sleep-mussed hair sticking up in every direction, as he flipped another pancake onto the growing stack beside him. He’d even arranged a few into a smiley face on Hazel’s plate, his little tradition whenever he was on breakfast duty.

You shuffled into the kitchen, your socked feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. A yawn escaped you as you leaned against the counter, watching Spencer. You swiped one of the neatly cut bite-sized pieces meant for Hazel, popping it into your mouth before he could protest. The sweetness melted on your tongue, and you hummed in satisfaction.

Spencer squinted at you, his brow furrowing. “Those were Hazel’s.”

You grinned, unrepentant, and stepped closer, pressing a lingering kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Thank you for making pancakes,” you murmured, your voice still rough with sleep.

He huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he poured another circle of batter onto the pan. “It’s your turn next time, by the way.”

You smiled as you turned toward the hallway. “We’ll see about that.” Spencer’s grumble followed you out of the kitchen, but you knew he didn’t really mind.

Down the hall, Hazel’s door was slightly ajar. You nudged it open further, stepping into the chaos of her room, stuffed animals piled in one corner and crayon drawings taped proudly to the walls.

“Hazel,” you called softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and brushing a curl away from her face. “Time to wake up, sweetheart. Daddy made pancakes.”

A tiny groan. Then, one bleary eye peeked out from under the covers.“…With smiley faces?” she mumbled, already fighting a smile.

You tapped her nose. “With smiley faces.” That was all the convincing she needed.

Hazel shot out of bed. Her bare feet hitting the floor before you could even remind her to wash up. You didn’t bother trying, some battles weren’t worth fighting this early, especially when Spencer’s pancakes were involved. Rules like "wash your hands first" or "don’t run in the house" tended to dissolve the second she caught sight of her dad in the kitchen.

By the time you made it back down the hallway, Spencer already had her scooped up in one arm, his other hand flipping a pancake. Hazel clung to him like a koala, her cheek smushed against his shoulder, her wild bedhead curls tickling his jaw.

“Mommy, look,” Hazel mumbled around a yawn, lifting her head just enough to point at her plate on the counter. “A smiley.”

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and grinned. “I can see that,” you said, stepping forward to pluck her out of Spencer’s grip. He relinquished her with a theatrical sigh of relief, though the way his fingers lingered on her back betrayed him.

Hazel wiggled in your arms as you carried her to the table, her excitement barely contained. You set her down in her usual chair and handed her the plate of smiley-faced pancakes. She immediately grabbed the pink plastic fork you offered (the "good" one, because the purple one was "too pointy", according to last week’s very serious declaration) and speared a syrupy bite.

The morning passed by quickly and playtime officially began and in the Reid household, that often meant music time.

Spencer had unearthed the old keyboard from the corner of the living room, the model he’d bought after a case years ago. Now, it was Hazel’s favorite "toy", though toy might have been too generous of a term for the expensive instrument currently being subjected to the enthusiastic button-mashing of a four-year-old. Today, she perched on his thigh, her legs swinging idly as he adjusted the keyboard’s stand to her height. You settled beside them, close enough to feel the warmth of Spencer’s shoulder against yours, as Hazel reached out and smashed a cluster of keys with both hands.

Spencer didn’t even flinch.

“Okay, maestro,” he said, gently guiding her fingers to a gentler octave. “Let’s try something less… experimental.”

Hazel wrinkled her nose but humored him, watching as his long fingers danced over the keys, playing a simple melody. She mimicked him, pressing one key at a time, her brow furrowed in concentration. You bit back a smile as Spencer’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when Hazel showed even a passing interest in something he loved.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re a natural.”

Hazel beamed, then immediately ruined the moment by elbow-dropping the keyboard. Spencer sighed. You burst out laughing.

Playtime eventually turned into the soft scratch of crayons on paper as Hazel settled at the table, her tongue poking out in concentration. You and Spencer drank your coffees, content to simply watch her. Both of you smiling as you noticed her inner dilemma between choosing purple or pink.

Spencer took a sip of his coffee, his free hand absently tapping a rhythm against the mug. “Do you think we need to go grocery shopping today?” he asked, his voice low so as not to disrupt Hazel.

You hummed, considering. The fridge was running low on essentials. “We don’t have many berries left,” you admitted, just as Hazel’s head snapped up at the magic word, her eyes wide with hope. You shot her a knowing smile, and she immediately ducked her head back down, though the corners of her mouth twitched. Busted.

Spencer chuckled, but his amusement faded when he caught your yawn, your hand lifting to cover it a second too late. His brow furrowed. “Have you not been sleeping lately?” he asked, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm before letting it rest on the table, your fingers lacing with his. “No, no, don’t worry,” you reassured him, lowering your voice so Hazel wouldn’t get distracted. “Hazel just took a long time to fall asleep last night.”

Spencer’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his expression softening with understanding. Hazel was at that age where her sleep schedule seemed to change daily.

“How about I take her to bed tonight?” he offered, squeezing your hand. “You could use the extra rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, because of course you would, but the look in his eyes stopped you.So you just smiled and squeezed his hand back. “Deal.”

Hazel, oblivious to the negotiation happening above her head, held up her drawing triumphantly. “Look! It’s us!”

The stick figures were lopsided, the colors bleeding outside the lines, but there was no mistaking the three of you, tall Spencer with his wild hair, you with an exaggerated smile, and Hazel right between you, holding both your hands.

"Oh look at you - you're an artist," Spencer cooed, his voice warm with pride as he carefully released your hand just long enough to accept Hazel's offered masterpiece. The paper trembled slightly in her tiny grip, her wide eyes darting nervously between you both, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Hazel, this is wonderful," you murmured, leaning across the table to gently tuck a curl behind her ear. Your fingers lingered, tracing the soft curve of her cheek.

"Thank you," she replied automatically, the words polite in the way Spencer had patiently taught her through countless reminders at playgrounds and playdates. Her nervousness disappearing at your delighted reactions.

Spencer remained utterly mesmerized by the drawing, his fingers carefully avoiding the still-damp crayon marks as he held it up to the light. You could see him committing every uneven line to memory. His throat worked slightly as he swallowed.

"This..." he began, then had to clear his throat. "This might be my favorite work of art in the entire world, Hazel. We should frame it."

Hazel's feet kicked excitedly under the table. "Can we put it on the fridge?" she asked, already scrambling down from her chair, knowing full well the answer. Asking the question with a confidence of a child who knew she was loved. The fridge was already a gallery of her creations.

"Of course," you said, pushing back from the table just as Spencer did, moving in sync toward the kitchen.

You reached for a magnet, a souvenir from some case Spencer had worked months ago, brought back from a different state just because it had a cartoon dinosaur on it and Hazel loved dinosaurs. Spencer pressed the drawing to the fridge, right in the center, where it would be the first thing anyone saw when they walked in. Hazel clung to his leg, her cheek pressed against his thigh.

"Perfect," Spencer murmured, brushing his hand through her hair, soft, just like his yet wild and untamed no matter how many times you tried to tame it into a ponytail.

Then, Hazel looked up, eyes bright with a new idea. "Can we go to the playground?" Home playtime had officially lost its appeal. The crayons were forgotten; the real world beckoned.

Spencer’s gaze flicked to you, one eyebrow lifting in silent question. He didn’t have to say it, you knew what he was asking. Are you up for it? You smiled. "Sure."

Spencer loved playground time. It was one of those little things you never would’ve guessed about him before Hazel. He loved seeing her make friends, loved the way she’d come running back to you both, breathless with stories about the kids she’d met.

Hazel bolted for her room, likely to change into an outfit that defied all logic. Spencer turned to you, his hands coming up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes. His touch was gentle, but his expression was serious, brows knit together as he studied you.

"You sure you’re not too tired to go?" he asked, voice low.

Your dark circles were barely visible, at least, you didn’t think they were, but Spencer noticed everything.You caught his wrists, holding them there for a second, letting the warmth of his skin seep into yours. "Yes, Spencer. I’m fine."

He searched your face for another second, then sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Okay," he murmured against your skin. "But if you need to leave early, just say the word."

You smiled. "Deal."

Somewhere down the hall, Hazel yelled, "I’m ready!"

Spencer chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Somehow, I doubt that."

Spencer had been right, of course. Hazel was decidedly not ready. It was actually a neon rainbow explosion of clothes. You exchanged an amused glance with Spencer over her head.

"Sweetheart," you began gently, kneeling to her level, "how about we save the super bright outfit for when Grandma visits this weekend?" You held up a soft green sweater. "This one has dinosaurs on the sleeves, see?"

Hazel's lower lip jutted out in protest, but Spencer swooped in with perfect timing. "And look," he added, producing her favorite blue rain boots from the closet, "you can wear these and jump in every single puddle between here and the playground."

The negotiation worked. Three minutes later, Hazel was bundled in weather-appropriate layers (though she'd won the right to keep one neon pink sock and one neon green sock peeking out from her boots, a compromise you could live with).

The walk to the park was its own little adventure, Hazel swinging between you both, her small hands warm in yours. Every few steps, you and Spencer would lift her simultaneously, sending her into peals of laughter that echoed down the quiet neighborhood street.When the playground came into view, Hazel's grip on your fingers tightened with excitement. "Slide first!" she declared, already squirming to be set free. The second her feet touched pavement, she was off like a shot, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

You and Spencer settled onto a weathered wooden bench. The moment your head found its place on his shoulder, his arm came up automatically to wrap around you, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm. True to form, Hazel had already befriended half the playground. Within minutes, she'd organized a game of tag. You watched as she paused to help a smaller child up the climbing wall, her little face serious with responsibility before breaking back into a grin.

You and Spencer sat on the bench, shoulders pressed together, chatting idly as you watched Hazel. You tilted your head up, still resting on his shoulder, and smiled. "I’m so glad you haven’t had a case in ages."

Spencer looked down at you, his eyes soft. "Me too," he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. You scrunched your face in delight.

"Hazel’s happy too," you added, nodding toward where she was now attempting to conquer the monkey bars. "Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or the pancakes." Spencer chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. He knew what the real answer was.

Suddenly, Hazel came running toward you, her footsteps kicking up wood chips as she skidded to a stop in front of the bench. "Mom, look," she announced, holding up a crumpled hair tie. Her once-neat ponytail had completely unraveled, leaving her hair a wild, wind-tangled mess.

"Aw, we can fix that quickly," you said, beckoning her closer. "Turn around, sweetheart."

Hazel spun obediently, her back to you as you gathered her hair in your hands, smoothing out the knots with gentle fingers before weaving it into a braid. Spencer watched over your shoulder, his expression fond as you worked.

"There," you said finally, letting the braid fall against her back before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "All done."

Hazel turned back around, but instead of darting off again, she paused, her big eyes flicking expectantly to Spencer. You bit back a smile. She always did this, had somehow developed an unshakable sense of fairness when it came to affection. One kiss from Mom? Obviously Dad had to even the score.

Spencer didn’t need prompting. He tugged her closer, guiding her to stand between his knees, and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to her forehead. "Mwah! There. Balanced." Hazel giggled, scrunching her nose.

Spencer took the opportunity to fix her jacket, zipping it back up where it had fallen open. "Are you having fun?" he asked, brushing a stray wood chip from her sleeve.

Hazel nodded vigorously. "Yes!"

"Good," he said, tapping her nose. "Now go show those monkey bars who’s boss." With a grin, Hazel took off again, her braid bouncing behind her.

The afternoon consisted of you pushing Hazel on the swings until your arms ached, Spencer patiently spotting her as she conquered the monkey bars, both of you playing an elaborate game of tag. But then reality set in, the grocery stores would be closing soon, and you were still dangerously low on Hazel's beloved berries.

"Time for a grocery run," you announced, brushing wood chips from your jeans. To your relief, Hazel didn't put up her usual protest about leaving the playground. At the magic word "berries," her head snapped up from where she'd been examining a particularly interesting rock.

"Blueberries?" she asked hopefully, already scrambling to her feet.

"And strawberries," Spencer added, tapping her nose. "But only if we leave now."

That was all the motivation she needed. However halfway to the store, her steps began to drag, her eyelids growing heavy. When she lifted her arms in silent request to be carried, you didn't hesitate, scooping her up and settling her against your hip. She immediately tucked her head into the curve of your shoulder.

Spencer's hand found the small of your back as you walked. Every few steps, he'd lean in to press a kiss to Hazel's wind-tousled hair, his lips lingering just a moment too long each time. You could feel Hazel's smile against your neck whenever he did, her little fingers tightening slightly in your shirt.

"Sleepy girl," you murmured, adjusting your hold as you approached the store's entrance.

"'M'not sleepy," Hazel protested, even as she nuzzled deeper into your shoulder, her breath already evening out.

Spencer chuckled quietly, reaching out to smooth a stray curl behind her ear. "Of course not," he humored her, holding the door open as you stepped into the produce section. "But just in case, maybe we should get extra berries. For...energy." Hazel peeked one eye open at that.

You lifted Hazel into the grocery cart, settling her in the child seat, her legs dangled awkwardly over the edge, but she didn’t complain, too busy blinking sleepily. You pushed the cart forward, walking through the produce section, tossing in berries (blueberries, strawberries, and, at Hazel’s insistence, one container of blackberries because they were pretty).

But as the cart filled, milk, eggs, the cereal Spencer pretended he didn’t eat straight from the box at 2 AM, it grew heavier, the wheels sticking stubbornly every few feet. You barely had to glance at Spencer before he was stepping in, his hands covering yours on the handle.

"Too heavy," he murmured, nudging you aside gently.

You rolled your eyes but let him take over, falling into step beside him as Hazel slumped further in the seat, her chin dipping toward her chest before she jerked herself awake again. Guilt prickled at you. She was exhausted, and dragging her through the store just for berries felt almost cruel. But you knew her well enough to predict the meltdown that would follow if she woke up tomorrow to no berries with her breakfast.

Then, suddenly, Spencer was gone. You didn’t even notice at first, too busy debating between two brands of yogurt, until Hazel perked up, her drowsiness momentarily forgotten as she craned her neck to look down the aisle.

"Daddy’s back," she announced, just as Spencer reappeared, his hands behind his back in a terrible attempt at subtlety.

You sighed. "Spencer." He ignored you, leaning down to Hazel’s eye level with a grin. "Haze," he said, revealing the small collection of toys. "Which one would you like to have?"

Hazel’s head shot up, all traces of sleep evaporating. You shot Spencer a look. He knew this was a problem. Every. Single. Time. Without fail, he’d wander off and return with something, a stuffed animal, a puzzle, once even a miniature telescope. His weakness for spoiling her was both endearing and mildly infuriating.

"You’re enabling her," you muttered under your breath.

Spencer didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. "It’s basic reinforcement theory," he said, straight-faced. "Positive rewards for good behavior, like not complaining about grocery shopping."

"She did complain. She whined the entire way here."

"Quietly," he countered. "That counts."

Hazel, oblivious to the debate happening over her head, pointed triumphantly at a small plush bunny wearing a detective’s hat. "This one!"

Spencer beamed, handing it over. "Excellent choice. Very Sherlock Holmes of you." Hazel hugged it to her chest. You sighed, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. Spencer caught your expression and smirked, bumping his shoulder against yours as he took the cart again.

On the way home, Hazel fell asleep in Spencer's arms, her cheek smushed against his shoulder and her new detective bunny still clutched in one hand. You'd offered to carry the grocery bags, but Spencer, stubborn as ever, had shifted his grip on Hazel and taken them anyway, leaving you to walk beside them, your fingers intertwined with Hazel's even in sleep.

Now you leaned against Hazel's bedroom doorframe, watching as Spencer set her to bed. His fingers made quick work of her mismatched socks (definitely his influence), peeling them off before tucking her feet under the covers. The raincoat came next, then the careful extraction of the stuffed bunny from her grip just long enough to prop it beside her pillow. When he smoothed her wild curls back from her forehead, Hazel sighed in her sleep, nuzzling into the touch. Spencer's expression softened impossibly further as he pressed a kiss to her temple. He turned to find you watching, and his face lit up. The door clicked shut behind him, his fingers finding yours automatically as you both made your way to the kitchen.

"She's going to keep you up all night," you observed, leaning against the counter and nodding toward the clock that read 5:30 PM.

Spencer mirrored your posture across the kitchen island, already rolling up his sleeves in preparation for dinner. "That's fine. I don't mind."

"Of course you don't," you laughed softly, shaking your head. He reached across the space between you, his hand warm against your waist as he drew you closer. Your head tilted back automatically to meet his gaze, and his thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone.

"I want you to sleep through the night," he murmured, his other hand coming up to frame your face. "I'll take care of her. Don't get up, okay?"

" Mhmm. Okay." You leaned your head against Spencer’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “We should probably make dinner,” you murmured after a while, though neither of you moved.

“Soon,” Spencer mumbled, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your spine.

Eventually, you managed to drag yourselves upright long enough to put a pot of water on the stove for pasta before collapsing onto the couch, too tired to do anything more than wait for it to boil. You settled half on top of Spencer, your head tucked beneath his chin, his hands drifting lazily up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. The conversation meandered, work, the grocery list, Hazel, until you found yourself grinning against his neck.

“I’m pretty sure she’s befriended the entire city by now,” you said, thinking of how Hazel could strike up a conversation with anyone, from playground kids to grocery store cashiers.

“Definitely,” Spencer agreed, shifting slightly to accommodate your weight, his arms tightening around you. “I saw her talking to an elderly couple last week. By the time I caught up, they were showing her pictures of their grandchildren.” You laughed into his sweater, imagining the scene, Hazel, tiny and serious, nodding along like she’d known them her whole life.

Then, you heard the soft patter of little feet padding into the living room.

You sat up just enough to peer over the back of the couch, Spencer doing the same, as Hazel’s sleepy figure appeared in the doorway. She rubbed her eyes with one fist, her hair even wilder than usual from sleep, her detective bunny dangling from her other hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you said softly.

Without a word, she shuffled forward and climbed into Spencer’s lap, yawning so widely her whole body shook with it. Spencer’s arms wrapped around her automatically, his chin resting atop her head as she curled into him, her bunny squished between them.You watched, your heart impossibly full, as Spencer’s lips quirked into a smile.

First you draped over him, now Hazel. His lap had officially become the family’s favorite place to be.

He caught your gaze over her head, his eyes soft with a happiness so profound it made your breath catch. Your fingers lingered in Hazel’s sleep-tousled curls as you tucked a particularly stubborn strand behind her ear. Spencer shifted beneath her weight, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head as he murmured, “Did you sleep well?”

Hazel nodded, her cheek still smooshed against his shoulder. The detective bunny, now slightly crumpled from being clutched all afternoon, was pressed securely to her chest, its little hat askew.

“Did you give him a name yet?” you asked, tapping the bunny’s paw lightly. Hazel blinked, her grip tightening momentarily as she processed the question. Her gaze flickered down to the toy, then up to you, then to Spencer, clearly having forgotten to give her new friend a name. And Spencer usually helped her with things like these.

He brushed a curl from her forehead and said, “Remember the book we read together last night?” You leaned your head against the couch, watching them with fondness.

Hazel’s nose scrunched as she thought. “Peter… Rabbit?” she tried, the title coming out slow but sure.

“Exactly,” Spencer said, grinning. “Do you want to call him Peter?”

Hazel looked down at the bunny, tilting its hat back into place with consideration. Then, she nodded. “Peter the Detective,” she declared. Spencer’s smiled. “Perfect.”

You reached over, straightening Peter’s miniature coat lapels. “A very distinguished name for a very distinguished bunny.”

Hazel beamed, tucking Peter back against her chest as she settled more firmly into Spencer’s lap. Spencer’s arms tightened around her, his chin resting atop her head as he met your gaze over her curls with a smile.

Dinner passed in a blur. Hazel narrated every bite of her pasta, swinging her legs under the table until Spencer gently stilled them with his hand. When the last dish was dried and put away, Spencer turned to you with that look , the one where his eyebrows did that concerned little dip they'd perfected over years of worrying about you.

"Bed," he said simply, already steering you toward the hallway as Hazel zoomed past with Peter the Detective clutched in one sticky hand.

"But I'm fi-" you started to protest through a yawn that betrayed you, rubbing at your eyes. Spencer's hands settled on your shoulders, turning you gently toward your bedroom.

"You're swaying," he murmured, lips brushing your temple. "And you only rub your eyes like that when you're about thirty seconds from face-planting into the nearest flat surface."

You wanted to argue, but another yawn overtook you, your body sagging back against his chest.

Spencer's arms circled your waist, his chin hooking over your shoulder. "I've got Hazel," he promised, his voice vibrating through your back. "And I'll be in soon. Just...stay horizontal until then, okay?"

You sighed in reluctant agreement as you turned to your daughter. Kneeling beside her, you smoothed back her wild curls. "Goodnight, my little detective," you whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Peter says goodnight too!" she announced, thrusting the bunny in your face with all the subtlety of a four-year-old. You dutifully kissed its fuzzy head, making Hazel giggle again.

Spencer's hand found the small of your back as you stood, steadying you when your knees protested. "Go," he said softly. "I've got cleanup. And bedtime."

You turned in his arms. "Fine," you relented, your smile gentle as his lips brushed your temple. "But don’t let her convince you to read more than two stories."

The last thing you remembered was the weight of the blankets being carefully tucked around your shoulders, and the brush of lips against your forehead that might have been real or might have already been a dream.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm #athens rambles

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athenxt · 7 days ago

Text

this is the cutest thing ever

i fear this is written with me in mind 💔💔💔💔💔

𝐈'𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐈𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐂𝐮𝐩- 𝐒.𝐑.

Pairing- Spencer Reid x ChildrensLibrarian!Reader

WC- 4.7k

Summary- Spencer stumbles on an incredibly special story time at the library one day. It changes everything.

Contains- Miss Honey-esque reader, Spencer is a complete and total simp, reader is described with curly hair that can be tucked behind her ears, idiots in love, love-ish at first sight, they keep missing each other until they don't

A/N- heavily recommend listening to potion by djo while reading this 😇 (also just in general) divider from @thecutestgrotto! Blurb of their date can be found here!

Spencer Reid is on a mission. The smoky scent of the local library engulfs him, the earthiness nearly swallowing him whole as the sliding doors part. He’s single minded today, on the hunt for Trediakovsky’s Razgovor ob Ortografii. While the study of the phonetic structure of the Russian language sounds like some light reading to him, his use for it today is much more sinister. The case they’re on is local, a serial killer leaving Russian poems at each crime scene. The letters and words twist in his mind as he tries to make sense of them, of why they were picked, why they were left at certain crime scenes, why-

“Now every year in Africa, they hold the Jungle Dance, where every single animal turns up to skip and prance!” He freezes in his tracks.The softest voice lilts its way in his head, breaking through his swirling sinister speculations. It’s a girl. The prettiest one he’s ever seen. His heart picks up at the sight of her, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes drape over her frame, the way her soft dress flows over it. They nearly roll back in his head once he sees the soft fabric delicately, deliciously, cinch her waist.

She’s reading to a crowd of eager listeners, most of them below the age of seven. She’s able to captivate what could be an incredibly rambunctious group, and that feat alone is enough to stop Spencer in his tracks.

“And this year when the day arrived, poor Gerald felt so sad, because when it came to dancing, he was really very bad,” a soft sadness captivates her voice, prompting a few ‘awww’s from the crowd of littles.

Before Spencer could stop himself, before he knew what he was even doing, he took two steps toward her, lingering gently in the back of the crowd. There’s a voice in the deepest recess of his mind- ‘focus on the case, focus on the book.’ And yet, the only thing he can focus on is the way each word fits around her mouth, her supple lips twisting and turning to capture each word, each nuance.

“The warthogs started waltzing, and the rhinos rock ‘n’ rolled,” she whips her hair slightly, her fingers stretched in a ‘rock on’ sign that encourages fits of giggles from the group. Spencer himself even cracks a smile.

Soon enough, Spencer’s learned all about Gerald- the giraffe who can’t dance- and how he finds his confidence, and how the audience can too! She’s so enthralling, the way her ringlets bounce with each movement, the shine of her lip gloss in the fluorescent light- how can someone look that good in fluorescent lighting? So enthralling, he doesn’t even register how weird it might look that he’s the only childless adult in the group. A fact he should be self conscious of, if it weren’t for the way his heart pounds when he looks at her.

He eventually retreats, pursuing the foreign language section in the world’s most pathetic attempt at nonchalance. Really, he should win an award for stupidity, with the way his eyes find her every 30 seconds, desperate to keep her in his line of sight. Soon enough, a light, floral aroma breaks through the bibliosmia coating the building. He turns, almost flinching at the proximity to her.

“Hi,” she smiles, and he’s a goner. His ever racing mind, the one that couldn’t shut off just moments ago, now rendered completely useless thanks to a sundress and perfume. IQ slashed to 80, as the team likes to say. “You seemed to be very interested in Gerald the dancing giraffe, I can’t help but think these books might be a little bit out of your lexile range, if that’s the case,” she references the stacks of Russian literature they stand before.

He chuckles, a breathless, unbelieving sound forced from his chest. His cheeks tint, a reddish hue overtaking them. He looks at his shoes. “Uhm, yeah. Yeah. I guess that would be the case wouldn’t it?” He makes the mistake of looking back up at her. Their eyes meet. His heart stops.

This must be what dying feels like. He’s dying, isn’t he? He has to be, because there’s no way people feel this way every time they’re attracted to someone. How would anyone get anything done? She giggles then, and it only makes it worse.

“What are you really here for? Let me help you,” she smiles, and he almost keels over at that moment.

“I’m looking for Trediakovsky, Razgovor ob Ortografii,” the Russian flows neatly off his tongue. Her eyes widen, an impressed smile creeping up her lips.

She nods, “Hm, handsome and smart, I’ll have to remember you.” He’s dizzy as he watches her scan through the rows of books- a perfectly manicured finger grazing the spines. He wonders what it’d be like for her to do that down his own spine. He shivers.

“Ah! Here it is!” she plucks it from the shelf, turning to him with an assured smile. “I can only give it to you if you tell me your name.”

A blush creeps up his neck once more, he avoids eye contact. His heart drops when he hears his phone beep in his back pocket. The case. His face goes white as he rips it from his pocket, coming face to face with a message from Derek.

Hello??? We’ve been waiting for 45 minutes. I hope the unsub got you because that’s the only reason I won’t whoop your ass for taking so long.

Spencer’s blush deepens He puts his phone down, coming face to face with her again. Her brows are furrowed this time, a pout on her lips that feels like an anvil on his heart.

“I have to go, I’m so sorry. I’m-um-yeah,” he turns, running off at the speed of light. He leaves the library. Without the book.

20 minutes later, he’s stuck in the passenger seat of the SUV, next to a very disapproving Morgan.

“I mean, you’re literally considered a genius by governmental standards, Reid. I don’t know how you forgot the one thing you needed from this library,” Morgan’s fingers tap against the steering wheel in their own impatient dance.

Spencer’s heart stops as they pull up to the library, the only saving grace of this moment the sheer prospect of being able to see her again. His palms sweat as he walks in behind Derek, who immediately flashes his badge to the older woman at the front desk. Spencer follows suit, and he sees the woman’s eyes light up in a way that says ‘hey, I know you!’

He prays she won’t say anything about his earlier…conversations with her coworker, desperate to keep it from Derek as long as possible. At least until he knows her name. But of course, he’s afforded no such luck.

“Oh, I had a feeling you’d be back! You were looking for the Russian book, yes? The…Trediakovsky?” She pushes up the sleeves of her pink knit cardigan as she moves, maneuvering the tiny space they stand before.

“Ah! Here it is, our lovely children’s librarian dropped it off for you, said you might be coming back for it,” there’s a twinkle in her eye as she says it. Spencer’s face is red as a beet, he can just feel it. “She really is very good, you know. Families come from miles away to hear her read. If either of you have little ones at home, feel free to come see us, tell ‘em Myrtle sent ya,” she winks as she scans the book. Spencer locks his eyes on her movements, even when Morgan glances back at him. Especially when Morgan glances back at him.

Once it’s been checked out, he grabs it from her with a breathy, “thank you,” before rushing off to the parking lot.

He stops with his hand at the car door, frozen in place at the sight of her. She’s toting multiple large bags through the parking lot, arms full of various costumes and fabrics as she attempts to unlock her car. Derek saddles up behind him, lifting his sunglasses. His confused gaze melts into one of petulant understanding, an older brother who found his diary littered with his crush’s name.

“Ahh, now I see why you forgot,” he ruffles his hair before jogging to the other side of the car. “I’d give you a chance to go help her, but your little mistake has now put us back 40 minutes. Get in.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, cheeks heating even more when she turns towards their voices, their eyes connecting. There’s a sparkle in hers, one of kind familiarity that sends his heart into a tailspin. He nods ever so slightly. He gets in the car.

You walk up and down the aisles, browsing the expansive children’s section for this week’s read aloud. Giraffes Can’t Dance was a hit, for more than your usual reasons. You shake that thought from your head, burying the unusual disappointment of not seeing the handsome, illusive stranger since that day. You clocked him the second he walked through the door, frenzied and frantic. You clocked the way he slowed down when he saw you, the small, purposeful steps he took in contrast with the quick pitter pats of his entrance.

His eyes never left you the whole time. While that’s not atypical during your story times, it usually comes from wide-eyed toddlers, not the most handsome being on two legs. His eyes were jet streams, steering gusts of wind right through you, rendering you breathless. You could never forget those brown eyes. It’s making you nearly insane.

You crouch in front of your seasonal display, various titles about the arrival of spring popping out at you. You decide on one of your favorites- There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Frog. You glance at the clock- you have about an hour until the kids begin arriving. You have plenty of time to get into costume. You smooth down the front of your dress, knowing it’ll be covered in one of Myrtle's cardigans in no time.

You situate yourself in the break room, assembling all your necessary materials to get ready for this morning’s read aloud. You fix a grey wig onto your head, along with fake glasses with a chain. You complete your look by adding wrinkles along your face, even going so far as to grab your frog puppet. Puppets are a necessity in a read aloud.

Your heels click their way out to the main lobby, where families have already begun to trickle in. You’re already in character, greeting the kids in a shaky voice, pretending not to recognize your own name.

"You're looking for who? Well, I've never heard of her in my whole life!" You'd insist to fits of giggles.

You eventually make your way over to the chair, frog and book in hand. You’re still waiting for one person in particular, though you know wishing to see him again would be like wishing on a dead star.

Every time you hear the door open, your back straightens just slightly. You’re met with Myrtle’s disappointed shake of the head each time. She’s heard your ramblings all about this mystery man over the past week, and of course is in full support. She even told you she gave your read alouds a shoutout, just so he would come back. You smile at the memory, though your heart sinks at the prospect of him not coming back. It’s agony, not even knowing his name. You could at least have done some internet stalking, but no. The world does not seem to be so kind.

Until it is. Myrtle shoots up, a gleeful ‘hello!’ spilling from her lips. Your heart begins racing, pounding against your ribcage with fervor. You see a familiar head of brown, fluffy hair, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You even forget your ridiculous getup, if only for a moment.

It doesn’t take long for the universe to unleash its cruelty once more, as a blonde woman with two children walks in behind him. Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Of course he’s taken, you think, face burning with humiliation. He wasn’t wearing a ring, so you’d assumed you just got lucky. Clearly not.

The boys are adorable, though it takes everything in you to put a smile on your face. You welcome them in your crotchety grandma voice, despite wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

His soft chuckle rings in your ears, ricocheting like gunshots. You flinch. His smile drops at that, his eyes studying you in a way that leaves you vulnerable, raw. You can’t help but catch his gaze, silently communicating to this stranger everything he’s made you feel.

Once the kids are all accounted for, you begin your story. For a moment, you disconnect, losing yourself entirely in the story of the old lady who swallowed the frog, the dirt, the seeds, the sunlight. Once the story is finished, you place the book in your lap to thunderous applause.

“Wow! Thanks so much for joining me in that journey, friends!” you exclaim, your grandma voice still entirely intact. “Now, I have a special surprise for you guys,” you wiggle your eyebrows as the kids anticipatingly lean forward.

You reach behind you, grabbing seeds for various plants- marigolds, sunflowers, lettuce, and beans. “We are going to plant some seeds, just like my friend here swallowed!” You point to the old lady on the cover of the book. “We are going to be the first planters in our new community garden here at the library!”

The kids take immediate gratification in this activity, racing to get their own pouch of seeds to plant. You line them up in an orderly fashion, your mystery man front and center- of course- before leading them out to their own section of the garden. You walk up and down the patch of grass your boss so gracefully granted you for this project, a smile wide on your face.

That is, until you bump into him. You stop abruptly, face heating as his gorgeous brown eyes bore into yours. Your heart shutters against your chest, completely ignoring the blonde woman behind him with two kids.

“Oh!” You gasp. “Uhm-hello, I- I didn’t think I’d see you again. It’s good to have you here, with the whole family!” There’s an airy lilt to your voice, disingenuous in every way possible. He sees right through it, you can tell by the light chuckle, followed by the realization dawning on his raised brow, his wide eyes.

“Oh! Oh, no-I uhm, this is my-” he clears his throat, gesturing to the woman and children behind him. “This is my coworker, and her kids. Her kids with another man-uhm-not with me. I’m just the godfather.”

His face is beet red. You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. You smile gently at his awkwardness, thankful you’re not the only one feeling vulnerable seeing him again.

“Hi, I’m Jennifer,” the blonde says, shaking your hand and wiggling her way in between you two.

“Jennifer, hi,” you smile, breathing out your own name in return.

“And these are my two boys, Henry and Michael!” She scoops up the youngest one, and you absolutely melt. They’re both the picture of sweetness, big blue eyes and chubby cheeks that won’t quit. They excitedly wave hello and you crouch down to meet the older one at eye level.

“Well, hello!” You chirp. “How are you? It’s so nice to meet you!” He’s shy, you can tell by the way his cheek meets his shoulder, the bashful look in his eye.

“I liked your story,” he mumbles. Your heart is a puddle in your chest. Those four words are music to your ears, the reason you show up day in and day out.

“I’m so glad! Have you gotten the chance to plant anything yet, Henry?” You ask, and he nods fervently.

“I planted marigolds with my brudder!” He exclaims, grabbing your hand to show you his hard work.

“Wow! Look at you two!” You exclaim, turning back to include the little one in his mom’s arms. Though, when you do turn, you freeze at the big, brown eyes still trained on you. His gaze is sparkling, full of light and adoration that make you feel fuzzy inside. Your stomach is a butterfly garden, rendering you lovesick and dizzy.

You finch at the sharp beep of a cell phone, Jennfier reaching in her back pocket with her free hand. She groans, and your heart drops.

“Spencer, we gotta go,” she whispers, though you catch his name and cling onto it for dear life.

Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.

His face falls, yours with it. You mirror each other’s regret, a sad smile forming on your face as the boys cling to you in deep goodbye hugs.

“Thank you very much for your hard work,” Jennifer says. “Hopefully, we’ll be back, godfather included.” Her tone is playful, her brows wiggling as she glances in between you and Spencer. Spencer.

The jet engine rumbles as the team settles in after another successful case. Spencer’s already made himself comfortable, curled up on the couch, desperate to think of anything other than the pretty librarian mind controlling him. He’s leaning into dramatics, this he knows. His forearm draped over his eyes, his free one limp at his side. He’s sure he looks like something out of Madame Bovary. The fabric of her dress swishing around in his mind renders him unable to care.

That is, until he feels a rustling of his hair. He peeks over his arm to see J.J. and Derek, watching him with knowing smiles on their faces.

“You guys look like the unsub we just caught,” Spencer muffles out, pride singed at their intentional, teasing gazes.

“Maybe…” Derek trails, “or maybe we just want to support you. Ever thought about that?”

This causes Spencer to sit up. Derek’s hardly ever this nice to him without a catch. He loves him for it, the way a brother would, but it doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing.

“What could you possibly want to help me with?” Spencer mutters. He knows playing dumb is useless, but he’s not sure he’s ready to face the reality of his rapid heart, his swirling thoughts.

“I don’t know…maybe a girl…” J.J. trails, and he’s a goner. “Maybe she works at the library, is great with kids, someone you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.”

He stands at that, walking to the other side of the jet. Their playful scoffs and footsteps follow behind him.

“Oh, come on, man! There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush!” Derek teases, nudging his shoulder with his. Spencer plows ten fingers through his hair before sitting in a corner seat.

“Aah, Boy Genius has a crush, eh?” Dave chimes in, turning in his chair to get a better look at the scene unfolding.

“Ohh, is that why you forgot that Russian book the other week? I thought there was something up with you, I just never guessed it’d be a girl!” Emily interjects, a smile spreading on her face.

“I am never talking to you people ever again,” Spencer states plainly, closing his eyes and turning his body away from his team.

“Leave him alone,” he hears Hotch warn. He’s stern as always, but there’s a playful lilt in his tone that has Spencer’s cheeks heating up. Why is he on this team again?

He’s rustled awake a few hours later, surprised that he was able to get some actual shut eye on the jet. He wipes his eyes to see Derek above him. He rolls his eyes, but Derek offers him a hand, helping him up. He claps a hand on his shoulder as they walk out.

“I’m sorry for teasing you, man,” he starts. “It’s not a bad thing to have feelings for someone, y’know? Maybe she likes you back.”

Spencer wrestles with the thought, an activity he’s grown way too accustomed to these past few weeks. He raises a brow at Derek, an unsure, “maybe,” leaving his lips.

Derek gives him two supportive pats before hopping off the jet. “C’mon, I’ll take ya home.”

Spencer’s brow starts to raise as Derek misses several turns, at one point going the exact opposite way of Spencer’s apartment.

“You do know where I live, right?” He asks, confusing lacing each syllable.

“Of course I do, genius,” the sarcasm rolls off Derek's tongue. “I just thought there’s somewhere else you’d rather be right now.”

Realization dawns on him as Derek parks in front of the library. Spencer’s heart drops, his palms immediately clamming up, mind calculating any and all possibilities. What if I smell from the jet? What if I look like I haven’t slept in four days? I mean I haven’t, but…can’t I take a shower first?

Derek must see the reservation on his face. He checks his watch. “From what I can tell, story time starts in about 5 minutes. That’s Will’s car over there,” Derek points out the window to a blue sedan that does in fact belong to the father of his godchildren. “Go get her.”

Invigorated by his words, Spencer darts out of the car, go bag slung over his shoulder. Derek speeds off before he can change his mind, leaving Spencer to cough on the dust. A small smile forms on his face, feeling lucky to be cared for in such a way.

He turns, now intimidated by the large building, glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. He sees her setting up on the first floor. His heart skips a beat.

She’s wearing a new dress today, one he hasn’t seen before, that is. It’s a cream colored, decorated with dainty pink flowers that clutch his heart. The sleeves are puffy, decorating her shoulders as she works hastily to put her finishing touches on the day’s read aloud.

She freezes when she sees him, and it finally dawns on him how much of a creep he must look like, watching her from the window. His cheeks heat up, that panicky feeling pumping through his heart. She smiles and waves. It only makes it worse. He feels as if he could melt into a puddle, right there on the sidewalk. He manages his own smile and wave, and she moves her arm in a ‘come here!’ motion.

It feels like he’s stuck in quicksand, the world slowing down as he enters the building. He’s not sure why, but it feels much more real this time. He’s come for her, and her only. There’s no more pretenses, no more games. It scares the living daylights out of him. He keeps walking, anyway.

He’s greeted by Myrtle, her knowing smile growing bigger as she sees him. He offers her a polite nod, before beelining directly for the children’s area.

“Uncle Spencer!” Two little voices cry out as Henry and Michael wrap themselves around his legs. He feels her eyes snap towards the noise, a pretty smile lining her lips as she watches the scene.

“Hi boys!” He whispers, trying not to cause any more commotion.

He settles in behind the boys, Will giving him a very knowing nod. The small bodies quiet at her request as she opens the book. The Very Hungry Caterpillar rests delicately between her fingers, manicured nails flipping through the pages with ease.

He watches in awe as she reads, the way she’s able to captivate a group of children, the adults, even, the ease with which she switches in and out of her goofy voices. It’s a talent. One that Spencer would do anything to watch behind the scenes. Each fruit and food mentioned gets their own moment, a stuffed apple resting on her lap, bowls of strawberries, grapes, and oranges lining the table next to her as the caterpillar wiggles his way through each food.

By the end, the kids all have sticky faces and fingers, the smiles not leaving their faces. She’s met with raucous applause afterwards, Spencer can’t resist joining in. She rests the book in her lap and leans forward.

“Thank you so much for coming, my friends!” She squeals. “If you planted some seeds last week, we will be going out to the garden to look at our progress! If you didn’t get a chance to, don’t worry! We have plenty of seeds leftover! Please form a quiet line at the door!”

He’s speechless at the way she commands the room, the kids wiggling around each other to get to the front. Spencer laughs at their attempts to be as quiet as possible, all while wanting to be as close as possible to their favorite librarian. He knows the feeling well.

He finds himself back where he was a week before, waiting with Henry and Michael, waiting for her to notice him. Waiting. That pang returns, the one he’s felt these past few weeks. The waiting, the wanting, the longing. It’s almost too much for him to bear as she nears closer, her eyes alight at the work the kids have done. They shine even brighter when she reaches him, her hands clasped to her chest.

“Wow, boys! Look at what you did! You made that! Be proud of yourself!” She’s crouched down at their level, holding her hand up for enthusiastic high fives.

Henry’s nearly knocks her off kilter, but she readjusts on small kitten heels that Spencer has decided are the bane of his existence. They’re cute, pink sandals with a bow at the top. All he can think about is how they’d look at his front door, resting next to his Converse.

He shakes that thought off when her gaze turns to him. By some grace of a higher power, his brain functions enough to offer her a hand. She accepts it as she rises back up, holding onto his hand for just a moment longer than necessary. It’s electric, energy charging through his veins at her touch. It’s static on his heart, electrocuting him and rendering him completely helpless. Helpless to her.

“Hello Spencer, it’s good to see you again,” her voice is small, flirty yet professional. She smooths down the fabric of her dress, her eyes scanning him up and down. He shifts, self consciously, but the small smile on her lips tells him she’s not judging. She never has.

“Oh! Mr. LaMontagne, forgive me, it’s great to see you again,” she jumps, shaking his hand with forgiveness.

Will holds a hand out, nodding his head in understanding. “No worries, doll. This has been a bit of a team effort,” he jokes, referencing between Spencer and her.

“Oh, goodness,” she says, gentle but embarrassed. She tucks her hair behind her ears. Spencer’s officially fallen. Hard. Will nods, moving away to be with the boys.

“So, Spencer…” She trails off, and he can’t help himself.

“Will you go out with me?” Spencer burts. Her face lights up. “We just keep missing each other, and I think you’re incredibly beautiful and so amazing at your job. I just want to get to know you more, if you’ll let me.”His smile is bashful to match hers, his cheeks tinted a bright red.

“That sounds amazing, thank you for thinking of me, Spencer,” her voice is so soft, he could wrap himself in it like a blanket. He breathes out a laugh, as if he could think about anything other than her.

She grabs a pink marker from the pocket of her dress and flips his palm over. He’s once again rendered useless by her touch. He feels some ticklish scribbles, his eyes trained on her the entire time. She looks up at him through her lashes, meeting his gaze. The sight constricts his heart, those eyes gripping it firmly, squeezing for all its worth. He needs a nurse.

“Call me, we’ll set something up,” she mutters lowly, a wink punctuating her words. Spencer nods his head bashfully, heat once again singing his cheeks.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah,” he replies. He gives himself some grace, it’s all his brain can come up with.

He watches her go, eyes trained on her as she continues to work her magic. The way she lights up at each child, finding something new and unique in each of them warms his heart. He smiles, eager for what the future could hold with such a sweet soul.

#me when im studying to be a librarian 😮😮😮#athens rambles #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fav fic

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