drewswife

[drewswife]

guys i know i was supposed to post today but i was sooo tired but new rafe and spencer fic will be coming soon dw!

[drewswife]

summary — you and spencer debating on who’s right on the plane and rossi looks it up and spencer was right

pairings — oblivious!spencer x pining!reader

a/n/warnings — fluff, bickering, spencer knowing he’s right but doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, use of y/n sorry

The stale airplane air hummed around me and Spencer, a familiar drone that usually lulled me into a peaceful state. Not today, though. Today, it was the backdrop to an increasingly passionate, if utterly trivial, debate.

"I'm telling you, Spencer, it was the summer of '98! I remember because that's when my aunt Brenda got her first computer, and everyone was talking about it." I gestured emphatically with my hands, nearly elbowing an unsuspecting flight attendant.

Spencer, ever the picture of quiet conviction, adjusted his glasses. "Y/N, with all due respect, the data clearly indicates that the widespread adoption of dial-up internet in suburban households didn't reach its peak until early 2000. While '98 saw a significant increase, it wasn't the 'everyone was talking about it' level you're describing."

"But it felt like everyone!" I insisted, leaning closer. "The internet was this new, magical thing! And Brenda was so proud of her Gateway."

"Your personal anecdotal evidence, while charming," Spencer said, a faint smile playing on his lips, "doesn't supersede statistical trends."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "Oh, so now my memories are just 'charming anecdotes'? Is that it, Dr. Reid?"

He's so pretty when he gets all academic like this, even when he's being a know-it-all.

Before the playful bickering could escalate further, Rossi, who had been patiently listening from across the aisle, cleared his throat. He pulled out his phone, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright, kids, let's settle this. What exactly are we looking up?"

"The year dial-up internet really took off in suburban America!" I declared, pointing at Spencer. "And he says it wasn't '98!"

Spencer merely raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge.

Rossi chuckled, typing quickly. A moment later, his eyes scanned the screen. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping him. "Well, Y/N, it seems our resident boy genius is, once again, correct. According to multiple sources, while there was growth in '98, the true widespread adoption and peak awareness you're describing did indeed occur closer to 2000."

I groaned, slumping back in my seat. "Unbelievable. My own memories betray me." I shot Spencer a mock glare. "You knew, didn't you? You knew you were right this whole time."

Spencer's faint smile widened, but he quickly reined it in, a flicker of something almost apologetic in his eyes. "I had a strong hypothesis, yes. But I didn't want to prematurely declare victory." He paused, then added softly, "And I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

And he's so sweet too. It's not fair.

My mock glare softened into a genuine smile. "You're a dork, Reid."

"And you're delightfully passionate, Y/N," he replied, a warmth in his gaze that sent a little flutter through my chest. I knew he was right, and a part of me had known all along that he probably would be. But I also knew he’d let me argue, letting me have my moment before gently, almost hesitantly, proving his point. And in that moment, as I looked at him, completely oblivious to the soft fondness in my own eyes, I couldn't help but pine just a little bit more.

🏷️, @sleepysongbirdsings @spencerreid66 @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics @boopiemadz @starrii-sturns

[drewswife]

Rafe tells reader to block all of her friends !

AN: this is really self projecting cause my friends lowkey hate me😝

You were pouting, shoulders hunched like a scolded kid, phone face-down on the coffee table. You didn’t even need to tell Rafe what happened—he could feel it the second he walked in. Your so-called friends had said something again. Left you out. Made you feel small.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and deep, before sitting beside you and pulling you gently—yet unarguably—into his lap.

“C’mere,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you like a cage. “You crying over them again?”

You nodded, lip trembling. “I dunno, maybe I just did something wrong...”

“No,” he cut you off, voice firm but soft. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You always do that, sweetheart, ‘cause you’re too soft for your own good.” He tilted your chin up with two fingers, making sure you looked at him. “That’s why you got me.”

You blinked at him, teary and confused, chewing your lip. “But they said I act different when I’m with you…”

He chuckled low, eyes glinting. “Good. You should act different. I’m not them. I actually give a damn about you.”

His tone sharpened just a little, just enough. “You let them talk to you like that? Again? After everything I told you?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just… I got nervous,” you mumbled, eyes flicking away. You were so sweet, so unsure. He could see it—how badly you wanted someone to just guide you.

“That’s the problem. You keep thinking you know better,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face slowly. “But you don’t. You never really have, have you, baby?”

You shook your head slowly, leaning into his hand.

“That’s why I’m here,” he whispered, thumb tracing your cheek. “To take care of you. To think for you. 'Cause you got a good heart, but you let the wrong people near it.”

You didn’t say anything—just breathed softly against his chest, heart slowing under the weight of his voice.

“You don’t need friends like that,” he finished, kissing your temple. “You need me. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

You melted into his chest, your cheek pressed to the thick muscle beneath his shirt, fingers fidgeting with the hem like a scolded child trying to redeem herself.

“I’m sorry…” you murmured. The words were small, barely formed.

“For what?” he asked, brow cocked. He wanted to hear it.

“…For not listening to you.”

Rafe smiled then—just a little. That was better. “You should be,” he said, brushing his knuckles under your chin. “I tell you these things because I know what’s best for you. Not them. Me. Always me.”

You nodded, slowly, dumbly, trusting him more than you trusted yourself.

He tilted your face again, speaking slowly like he was walking you through something delicate. “You don’t need to waste energy trying to make people like you. That’s not your job. Your job is to stay close to me. Let me take care of everything. That’s all you need to do.”

“But… what if they get mad if I stop talking to them?” you asked, voice small and anxious.

“They will get mad,” he said simply. “Because they’re selfish. They liked it better when you were easy to push around. But they don’t get a say anymore.” He kissed your forehead, his thumb sliding gently across your bottom lip to still your fidgeting. “You belong to me now. That’s not up for debate.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. You felt safe. And dumb. But safe.

His hand came to rest on your throat—not squeezing, just there. Warm. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t need to think so hard, baby. That pretty little head of yours wasn’t made for worrying,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m here for. So when I say something’s not good for you, you listen the first time, yeah?”

You nodded quickl

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now block their numbers. All of them.”

“But—”

He raised a brow.

“…Okay.”

“See?” he smirked. “That’s my girl. Nice and obedient.”

And as you curled up tighter in his lap, your phone locked in his palm as he helped you block every last contact, you didn’t even miss them.

Because Rafe was right.

He always was.

[drewswife]

summary — you and spencer debating on who’s right on the plane and rossi looks it up and spencer was right

pairings — oblivious!spencer x pining!reader

a/n/warnings — fluff, bickering, spencer knowing he’s right but doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, use of y/n sorry

The stale airplane air hummed around me and Spencer, a familiar drone that usually lulled me into a peaceful state. Not today, though. Today, it was the backdrop to an increasingly passionate, if utterly trivial, debate.

"I'm telling you, Spencer, it was the summer of '98! I remember because that's when my aunt Brenda got her first computer, and everyone was talking about it." I gestured emphatically with my hands, nearly elbowing an unsuspecting flight attendant.

Spencer, ever the picture of quiet conviction, adjusted his glasses. "Y/N, with all due respect, the data clearly indicates that the widespread adoption of dial-up internet in suburban households didn't reach its peak until early 2000. While '98 saw a significant increase, it wasn't the 'everyone was talking about it' level you're describing."

"But it felt like everyone!" I insisted, leaning closer. "The internet was this new, magical thing! And Brenda was so proud of her Gateway."

"Your personal anecdotal evidence, while charming," Spencer said, a faint smile playing on his lips, "doesn't supersede statistical trends."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "Oh, so now my memories are just 'charming anecdotes'? Is that it, Dr. Reid?"

He's so pretty when he gets all academic like this, even when he's being a know-it-all.

Before the playful bickering could escalate further, Rossi, who had been patiently listening from across the aisle, cleared his throat. He pulled out his phone, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright, kids, let's settle this. What exactly are we looking up?"

"The year dial-up internet really took off in suburban America!" I declared, pointing at Spencer. "And he says it wasn't '98!"

Spencer merely raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge.

Rossi chuckled, typing quickly. A moment later, his eyes scanned the screen. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping him. "Well, Y/N, it seems our resident boy genius is, once again, correct. According to multiple sources, while there was growth in '98, the true widespread adoption and peak awareness you're describing did indeed occur closer to 2000."

I groaned, slumping back in my seat. "Unbelievable. My own memories betray me." I shot Spencer a mock glare. "You knew, didn't you? You knew you were right this whole time."

Spencer's faint smile widened, but he quickly reined it in, a flicker of something almost apologetic in his eyes. "I had a strong hypothesis, yes. But I didn't want to prematurely declare victory." He paused, then added softly, "And I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

And he's so sweet too. It's not fair.

My mock glare softened into a genuine smile. "You're a dork, Reid."

"And you're delightfully passionate, Y/N," he replied, a warmth in his gaze that sent a little flutter through my chest. I knew he was right, and a part of me had known all along that he probably would be. But I also knew he’d let me argue, letting me have my moment before gently, almost hesitantly, proving his point. And in that moment, as I looked at him, completely oblivious to the soft fondness in my own eyes, I couldn't help but pine just a little bit more.

🏷️, @sleepysongbirdsings @spencerreid66 @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics @boopiemadz @starrii-sturns

[drewswife]

guys how did we go from this 😔

[drewswife]

what season is oblivious spencer for

BTW I LOVE THEM SM ALRR

im thinking 1-2 ngl

IM WRITING FOR THEM RN

[drewswife]

OBSESSED OBSESSED OBSESSED

[drewswife]

drew starkey with fans! 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 SO CUTE PLS

[drewswife]

guys for oblivious!spencer x pining!reader should they kiss in like 4 more blurbs/fic or in like 2

[drewswife]

A slutty polo and biceps? We are so back

[drewswife]

😫

NEW drew starkey content with fans in Charleston!

[drewswife]

such a slut 😩💦

[drewswife]

ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

[drewswife]

guys send requestttt

[drewswife]

summary — pining!reader admiring spencer while he’s reading to here

pairings — pining!reader x oblivious!spencer

warnings — fluff, spencer blushing and stuttering

The soft lamplight cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the pages of the worn book in Spencer’s hands. You, perched on the edge of the plush armchair opposite him, felt a familiar ache in your chest. He was reading aloud, his voice a low, comforting rumble that filled the quiet space, and you were utterly captivated – not just by the story, but by him.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, the glasses perched on his nose slipping ever so slightly. A stray lock of brown hair had fallen across his forehead, and you had an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and brush it back. He paused, looking up to meet your gaze, a small, inquiring smile playing on his lips. "And then, the hero realized his true strength lay not in his brawn, but in his intellect," he read, a hint of triumph in his tone.

You offered a breathless, "Mm-hmm." Every fiber of your being was focused on him, a silent symphony of admiration echoing in your mind. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused by a passage, the subtle gestures he made to emphasize a point, the sheer intelligence that radiated from him – it all contributed to the quiet turmoil in your heart. You were pining, plain and simple, and Spencer, bless his brilliant, oblivious heart, had absolutely no inkling.

He continued reading, the narrative unfolding beautifully, but your mind was elsewhere, constructing elaborate scenarios where he did notice, where he returned even a fraction of the affection you felt. You imagined him looking up, his eyes widening with a sudden realization, a blush creeping up his neck as he saw you not just as a friend, but as something more.

And then, as if summoned by your deepest wishes, it happened. He came across a particularly tender passage, a description of quiet affection between two characters, and his voice faltered, a faint blush beginning to dust his cheeks. He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering from the book to you, then quickly back to the page. His fingers, usually so steady, fumbled slightly with the corner of the book.

"Are you alright, Spencer?" you asked, a hopeful tremor in your voice.

He mumbled something inarticulate, his blush deepening. "Just this particular phrasing rather evocative," he managed, his voice a little softer than before. He tried to continue reading, but a slight stammer crept into his words, tripping over a few syllables. He kept his eyes glued to the page, but you could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.

A slow, delighted smile spread across your lips. He was blushing. Spencer Reid was actually flustered. It was a tiny crack in his carefully constructed intellectual fortress, a fleeting glimpse of something soft and vulnerable.

🏷, @spencerreid66 @starrii-sturns @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics @boopiemadz