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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

Text

-Spencer Reid x reader

{Spencer is much too easy to tease}

Short and fluffy!! Hope you enjoy as always💕

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“Were you sent home?” Is the first question you ask Spencer as he walks through the door much earlier than expected. Normally he’d work for hours upon hours, sometimes even days, but today he returned home only an hour after leaving. Not that you were complaining.

He nods, rolling his shoulders as he walks over to where you’re sitting on the sofa, your legs crisscrossed with a colouring book on your lap.

“Yeah, we finished up earlier than expected,” he said, watching as you put the book along with your felt tips on the coffee table. Spencer smiles as you shuffle closer to him on the couch.

You push back the hair that frames his face, tucking it behind his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. He turns to you, wanting a proper kiss but you’re quick to stop him, hands against his shoulders with a teasing smile.

You watch as his eyebrows furrow slightly, “So, good day then?” You wonder, enjoying the slightest confusion that paints his face.

“Yeah, good day,” he says, as he leans into you again, but you pull away dodging his advances, keeping him at arm's length.

He looks almost offended as you continue with your silly antics. “Ooo- are those new frames?” You ask, taking his glasses off and admiring them. He shakes his head as he takes them from your hands before placing them next to your pencil case on the table.

You watch as he bites his bottom lip, trying to figure out why the hell you’re evading him. “What? no- you know they’re not new sweetheart.” He says almost cautiously, leaning back into you and just before his lips meet yours you turn your head, and he kisses your cheek before pulling back with a worried look that contorts his face, and you start to feel a little guilty.

He's about to go on a panicked tangent asking if he's done anything wrong, but then he sees it in your eyes, as you bite back the giggle that bubbles in the back of your throat, “Oh, you’re doing it on purpose aren’t you?” He asks, watching as you bite your lip.

His eyebrows pull together with amusement as he watches you purse your lips trying so hard to stop the uncontrollable smile. "Doing what on purpose?" you ask, and he chuckles although it comes out more like a scoff.

His hand cups your jaw, turning your head to face him as he finally presses a sloppy kiss to your lips causing you to whine in disgust. You try to push away but he doesn’t let you, instead, he chuckles at the way your face scrunches up.

“Not happening Spencer,” you tell him trying to be as stern as possible, but to no avail, you can’t help but laugh when he pushes you to lay down against the couch as he sits between your legs.

He frowns at the use of his name. It’s odd hearing his first name leave your lips, it was always ‘Spence’ or some variation of a nickname, and he decides at that moment that he hates it. He smirks as his cold hands slip underneath the shirt you’re wearing, splaying across your stomach and he chuckles as you gasp trying to push him away.

You try a good five times to stop his cold wandering hands from traversing across your warm body until you finally connect the dots, he’s not paying you any mind as you call him by his first name.

“Oh- you’re so annoying” you groan trying to wiggle out from underneath him, but it’s useless, as he lays his body weight on top of you, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

You give in deciding it was pointless to fight Spencer when he gets like this. “Mhm, and you love it, don’t you?” He smirks against your skin, dropping a kiss to your shoulder then another to your jaw, until he’s peppering your face with warm kisses.

“Yes I do, I love you so much” you giggle, his lips against yours as he gives you little pecks that soon turn into a warm kiss, your hands playing with his hair.

“I love you too” he whispers, and you let him lay on top of you, a mess of limbs on the sofa as he smothers you with kisses, and you don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of this side of Spencer.

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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This was soo good!! Can you make one where the reader is drunk and she is all adorable?

one of my fav types of stories

It has been an amazing night with the team. Laughter and lighthearted chatter have filled the air all night as everyone and their spouses relax for dinner at Rossi's. Everyone has let loose, reveling in the camaraderie of the group.

You went heavy with the drinks early, accepting Rossi's offer of a glass of wine as soon as you got in the door and not slowing down all night. In fact, since Penelope's been plying you with strongly mixed cocktails, you've sped up.

Spencer has looked delicious in his suit all night, perfectly tailored dark blue that makes him look tall and broad at the same time.

Once Penelope declares she's going to the bathroom, you make your way across the garden to your husband.

"Guess who?" You whisper into his ear, barely managing to stand still on your high heels without falling over as you hold your palm over his eyes.

You can't see it over his shoulder and he can't see it through your fingers, but Hotch and Rossi are smiling at you both, remembering that young love. They step further away to give you two some alone time.

Spencer chuckles, wrapping his hand over the top of yours. "Someone that smells like tequila."

"And Chanel." You pout, taking your hand away and letting him turn around to look at you.

He pulls you closer to him by your hips, holding you steady. "How much have you had?" He asks, a smile lingering on his lips.

"A few." You admit. "Should we go get more?"

Spencer quickly shakes his head. "No, I think you need some water."

You run your hands through his styled curls. "Aw, are you going to look after me?"

He nods, pulling you forward to kiss your forehead. "Always. Now take those shoes off before you break your ankle."

"You don't think they look nice?" You pout, standing on one heel to take the other off and almost toppling over.

Spencer holds you stable. "I think you look beautiful." He reminds you. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

You grin at him, handing over your shoes. "I'm so lucky." He frowns, prompting you to continue. "You're so caring and very smart and you look so dashing in your suit."

He chuckles, smiling lovingly at you. "'Dashing'?" He repeats.

"Dapper and attractive and handsome and so pretty." His cheeks fill with a deep red blush as you continue praising him. "You're so perfect and I love you."

"You're perfect and very adorable, and I love you too." He says softly. "Come on, let's go make sure that hangover isn't too bad tomorrow."

You nod, holding his hand. "Yes, Doctor."

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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in every other life- s.r.

a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan. summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy. wc: 3.3k (holy shit)

While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he can’t help but feel that it’s so unfair.

Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and he’d found anyone that he’d even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. He’d grown used to a life where companionship wasn’t a desire that crossed his mind.

But he wanted her.

His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair you’d ever have to take your eyes off of. She’s the best person he’s ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself you’ll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day.

It was only a matter of time until he wasn’t the only one with his eye on her.

She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life.

“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure.

“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a calculated question.

She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness.

It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility.

When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists.

But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his.

She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.

“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”

It’s all that he can do not to freeze up.

Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way.

And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time.

“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.”

It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete.

“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”

She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers?

“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.

“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”

Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-

Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him.

It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy.

“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded.

“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“

Please kill me, he thinks. Please.

“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”

Thank god.

Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again.

When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality.

The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does.

Ben, is not in fact, going away.

If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore.

It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.

“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”

She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.

But her cup says Ben.

“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”

She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.

“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”

If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have.

“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes.

The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison.

“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is.

“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.”

Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition.

Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.

“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”

It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess.

He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile.

Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp.

“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.”

In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his.

It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company.

He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it.

The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem.

At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.

But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben.

She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face.

He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?

This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?

It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.

“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?

“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”

His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights.

Ironic, really.

The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself.

In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering.

She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known.

“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.

“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for.

“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”

Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this.

“I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold.

“This whole Ben thing.”

“Oh.”

Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to.

He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from.

“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass.

“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time.

She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation.

It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot.

Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together.

Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting.

“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-

“I only went out with him the once.”

“What?”

“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”

Romance?

Wasn’t it romance, though?

Her eyes widen in something akin to horror.

“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“

“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”

She blinks.

“No?”

He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry.

He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment.

He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire.

Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s

Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her.

“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion.

She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.

It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him.

“Spence,” she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness. “There was never anyone else to pick.”

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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hi im back! okey so def can see spencer still wanting to hug and snuggle with you even when fighting or mad at each other. he even gets genuinely ??? confused ??? when you try to sleep on the couch instead of in bed at night. he holds you and either reader or him is like "i know we are snuggling right now but i am still super pissed off at you." lol i can just see it. he may be petty when mad but he wont stop trying to touch you bc its a biological need of his and no argument is more important than needing you 🥺

enjoy this I did it very fast!!!! ily

He knows he’s not easy to be with sometimes. She would never say it, but it’s true. He doesn’t always get the jokes, sometimes pushes things too far and without even knowing it the ground gets pulled out from under him.

And sleep- Sleep is so complicated. The memory of the first time she slept in his bed is etched into a place he could never erase. Spencer had always had trouble sleeping, either fear or alertness plaguing him into the late hours of the night. He used to lie awake, the kind of exhausted that feels like it’s seeping out of your bones, while constantly facts he’d unwittingly memorized about how sleep deprivation can cause brain damage.

But then she’d come into his life. All soft words and gentle disposition, and there really is something magic about the way that everything just dissipates when her warm, soft body curves into his own. He’s slept well almost every night since.

Except today, she isn’t coming to bed.

It’s his fault, and he knows it. He wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t seen him for two weeks (and he hadn’t slept nearly enough without the weight of her form beside him since the last time he saw her) and she’d said that she wanted to be prioritized more.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, Spence!”

His head was killing him. Was it actually possible, for a headache to kill you? Her voice is audibly upset, and it’s alarming how he could be the cause of it.

“Please,” he had said through labored effort, “Can we talk about this later?”

“When would you like to talk about it? Because I don’t ever know if you’re leaving-“

“Do you even know what it is that I do? That it’s not a choice for me to go? I have to do this. I can’t pick and choose and honestly, I don’t want to. If you don’t get that, we’re not doing what I thought we were doing.”

It sounds foreign, his own voice. And it’s after he’s said it that the sick taste reaches his throat because oh, that means the end. Her lovely face is unreadable for a brief moment, before something like grief splays over her expression.

It’s silent for a beat, and Spencer wishes he could swallow the words back up, rewind his life like a battered VHS tape where he’s not so stupid to mess up the one thing that’s ever brought him peace.

“You’re not yourself, Spencer. I’m gonna give you a minute.”

A minute, it turns out, is hours in the living room. She hadn’t left, thank fucking god, but she hadn’t come back. Of course she hadn’t. She wasn’t the one who needed to apologize.

He’s just so tired.

He thinks of her so-sweet voice, the curve of cheek- the junction of her neck and shoulder, and how much he would like to have her pressed against him. He pads out into the living room like a nervous puppy, and sees her sleeping on the olive green couch she had picked out. Her hair was splayed across the arm of the sofa, and her head laid on a throw pillow, their fuzziest blanket draped across her form.

His first thought is how low he’s dropped, that he’s jealous of a blanket.

His second his that she is not coming to bed. He sits beside her gingerly, and the scent of her body wash lingers in the air.

“Are you planning on coming to bed?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” He can tell she wants to sound cold, but the truth is much worse; she sounds guarded.

“I always want you to.” It’s the most honest thing he’s said today, and it’s just not fair, how much he revolves around her. How he has waited 14 days, 13 hours and 34 minutes to hold her again and managed to ruin it within the first 20 minutes of having seen her again. He grabs her hand, soft and pliant against his in a way that almost makes his heart leap. “Please? Come to bed?”

Her gaze softens, the warmth and light that guides him back in her eyes, and he hopes his relief isn’t too visible. It’s then that she drinks him in. It feels too revealing like she can see right through him. His clothes are old. He’d rushed off the jet to see her, and the half moon circles under his eyes only lend to the unimpressive picture of himself.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, touching the side of his face. He instantly leans into it, the contact more than he’d be willing to give up to save his dignity. “Come here.”

She wraps her arms around him, and he pulls her into his lap, squeezing her tight to his chest, like she might disappear.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says, looking at him with such affection it betrays her words.

“That’s okay,” he says into her collarbone, “As long as I still have you.”

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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Furniture shopping with Spencer!! Like going To Ikea and imagining what your future house could look like.

"We do not need a velvet couch."

She looks adorable, lip jutting out in a incredibly endearing pout, and he knows that she knows he's liable to give her anything she wants. Her hairs pulled back, and he strides her pretty face; his favorite thing to look at. Even when she tries her hardest to be mad at him.

“You don’t see my vision!” It’s intended to sound angry, but affection betrays her, the ghost of a smile creeping into her expression.

“Velvet is a nightmare to clean,” he replies, “Do you really want to get a couch dry cleaned?”

A loving grin playing at his lips of its own volition, and he wraps his slender arms around the curve of her waist from behind, and he relishes in the way her entire demeanor softens. It’s something addicting, how she is always responsive to his touch. He’d never expected someone to lean into him like this, to savor his touch on first instinct. He’d never believed it would be someone as lovely as her.

“If you had it your way, we’d only have lawn chairs.”

He spun her around gracefully to face him, and scans her face, seeing only easy understanding a jovial attention, and he doesn’t mean to but he does it anyway- lifts her delicate hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

“No,” he says, with a cheeky smile, “We’d only have a loveseat.”

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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actually!!! I’m gonna speak further on the whole Spencer can’t cook thing- I bet he was never taught how by his parents and subsequently, his favorite meals are things like canned pastas, frozen pizzas, easy meals, and he’s all embarrassed to tell you but it’s something he’d like to share, and ultimately, when he does manage to tell you it’s something you greet with love and care!!!

and no one expects him to like this things, expects him to have high standards for food and it’s preperation, and so he expected his gf to be disappointed when he mentions that he really would love to have boxed Mac and cheese again, is just delighted when you respond by surprising him with a bowl of it when he comes home!! and he just MELTS

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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Tulip for the flower asks, with spencer?? 🥺🥺

Tulip - an act of affection so blatant everyone notices // flower prompts

"You have an eyelash."

She blinks at him. She looks beautiful, as always, but her hair is a little mussed, sleepiness painting the corner of her eyes with a bit of sleep, and he thinks it has to be obvious, how captivating she is. The case had been long, and it's their last night in the hotel, and they're all decompressing in the lobby before the jet is ready.

He savors this time, making excuses to go to his room and chatting until the night breaks into morning. He hates when she pads off to her own room. Now, she'd just been rambling about the book she was going to read on the jet (even though Spencer would highly prefer if she would get some rest, ideally on his shoulder), and he'd noticed it.

A stray eyelash.

"On your cheek," he clarifies, "Let me."

He reaches his thumb forward, and it's then he realizes that oh, the distance between them was not actually so large. He can smell her floral-scented perfume mixed with her, and her face is so soft under the pad of his thumb as he brushes the stray lash away.

It would actually not be that much distance to kiss her, actually.

That it is an absurd thought, though, because they are friends and also everyone in the BAU is watching him take far too long to do what he said.

"Thank you," she says back softly, eyes trained on his in a way he can't exactly parse.

He thinks he hears JJ and Morgan snickering, notices the hint of a smile on Hotch's face and swears Rossi is holding back an actually guffaw.

But her skin felt warm under his touch, and kind of all he can think about.

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

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Are you still taking flower prompts? If so, Orchid or Gardenia with spencer? Love ur work <3

the love of a friend who doesn’t want to just be friends // flower prompts

She’s wearing his shirt.

He’s not sure anyone else would notice- it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t assume Spencer owns, but Spencer remembers leaving it at her place.

It sometimes feels like they view the world in entirely different ways. She moves through the world with lightness and literally stops to fawn over flowers as she walks past them. She’s all graceful laughter and deep intention, somehow always saying something of substance without a bit of pretension.

He’s here to pick her up. It’s not a date because they don’t date. That’s not what they are to each other.

(But sometimes, Spencer considers that idea. Keeps the idea beside him like a well-loved companion, a wishing stone to ponder when the edges of his life threaten to shred him.)

She glances up at him, her lovely mouth blooming into her trademark gorgeous grin. They have a two-person book club, and she’d suggested something lighter (she had read his Russian drama translation without complaint, so he’d agreed.)

“Is everything okay?” her careful finger drums against the spine of the book, the thump of it calming with her eyes trained directly on his own. Her voice is a lilting thing, floating in the air like a pleasant breeze. He drinks in the sight of her, the hem of her denim shorts kissing her thigh, and his, his, shirt is tucked into it. She looks adorable.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” He says, without thinking.

And then, then, he feels so stupid. Because for a flash, and he’s sure the only reason he can tell is his line of work, but that’s shame on her face. But it doesn’t make sense. Because all Spencer can think about is that something that’s his is wrapped around her. Something that’s his gets to hold her.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry! I thought it was mine! I’ll go change.”

“No, no,” he says back, a little too quickly. “It looks better on you.”

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little-peachy-panda · 1 year

Text

A Not-so-good Day

Summary: Spencer is worried about Reader after a bad day.

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: GN!Reader x Spencer Reid

Genre: hurt/comfort (ish?)

Warnings: none really! (if i missed anything or if there's something you'd like me to tag pls let me know!)

A/N: using prompts 33 & 67 from this list by @writings-of-a-hufflepuff! the prompts are bolded:) welcome back to me writing things i wish would happen and being sad that they're not real lol i wrote this months ago, probably because someone (me) wanted a hug from spencer reid after a bad day...some things don't change. this is written terribly and like i said it’s super old and i haven't looked at it in a while so....if there are any mistakes, no there aren't anddd as always, let me know what you think!

-----

As soon as the door to your apartment opened and you walked inside, Spencer felt himself relax; he let out a slow breath, unclenched his jaw, unfurrowed his brow, dropped his shoulders, and let the tension he didn’t consciously realize was there seep out of his body.

When you walked into the room, Spencer was happy to see you acting like your usual self. He knew that, as much as you loved your job, it also took a lot out of you, especially lately. Obviously, and thankfully, not every day was a bad day; maybe it was Spencer’s darker side that told him to prepare for the worst, but he seemed to always hold in half a breath waiting for you to return after a long day, dreading the prospect of you coming home upset.

Some days, you would come home noticeably depleted, as if you were a beach ball, and someone just opened the plug and let air drain out over time; you were less animated, less smiley, and most telling to Spencer, less talkative, but you were also more touchy, never seeming to want to leave Spencer’s side. Most days, though, you were totally fine, and Spencer would breathe easy knowing you’d had a good day.

So when you walked through the door today, Spencer was calm, seeing you smiling and laughing while you discussed your respective days; you told Spencer about the different people you’d seen throughout the day, and Spencer told you stories from whatever shenanigans were going on with the team recently. After sitting down for dinner, you both made your way to the couch; Spencer picked up a book, while you flipped through the channels on your TV trying to find something to watch. Suddenly, Spencer felt the cushions shift, and he looked up at you standing on the couch, reaching for his legs.

“Can I—” Spencer paused. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Gimme one sec, one second…”

You pulled his legs around so he’s laying across the couch cushions, head on the arm rest; you then grabbed the book in his hands and put it back on the coffee table.

Spencer looked at you incredulously. “Hey! I was reading that!”

“Spence, I know you know what page you were on. And anyway, it’s not like you haven’t read that one already.” you said, smirking.

Before he knew what was happening, you slid next to Spencer, your back to the couch cushions, tangling your legs between his. As soon as you were settled, you laid your head on Spencer’s shoulder, took a deep breath, and just stayed there quietly.

It was then that Spencer’s heart dropped.

He didn’t know if he should say anything until you were reaching your hand around to play with the hair at the base of his neck.

“Y/N?” he asked, staring up at the ceiling, trying to keep his voice level and his mind focused.

“Mhm?”

“Is everything….okay?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t— I don’t know, you just…” he trailed off, unable to put his feelings of unease into words.

“You mean this?” you asked him, not understanding what he means. “You’re worried because I want to cuddle? That I made a-- a sudden decision,” you said in a mocking tone, “to lay here with my own boyfriend??! Spence, seriously.”

Your words made Spencer regret saying anything in the first place. But your tone...your tone set off alarm bells all throughout his head, but he didn’t know how to get that across to you without sounding accusatory; you hated when people tried putting words into your mouth, so even if they were accurate words, you tended to reject them completely and Spencer knew that.

“Yes? I mean, no, not that entirely. It’s just-”

You didn’t let him finish. “Sometimes I just want to cuddle, okay? Is that so bad?”

“Not at all! You don’t think I love being here with you?!” It’s true— he was so comfortable with you and he loved when you both did absolutely nothing together, like what you were doing now. “I’m just worried about you. It wasn’t like you to stop everything and whip me around on the couch like that,” he laughed slightly. “You just got so quiet, so fast...and I know you don’t always have good days, and I try— I really try to figure out when you’ve had a bad day so I can be here for you, you know I hate seeing you upset...but I also hate seeing you like this. Overcompensating in some ways, putting your guard all the way up so you don’t have to deal with whatever is upsetting you.” He looked at you, and turned your head so his eyes can meet yours. “You don’t usually get this quiet, and then this defensive, unless you’re upset about something. I— I know you, and I know you know that but it felt like now was a good time to remind you of that. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, you know I won’t pry. But—” he stopped as soon as he noticed your gaze falling.

“Hey—” he said, earnestly. “Hey, love, look at me, please—”

You finally glanced up at him, fearing the look on his face when he’ll notice the tears on your lash line. You appreciated it even more when he doesn’t acknowledge them, knowing it would upset you more if he did.

“But,” he continued, “for the love of all things good in this world do not try and keep up a front around me! It’s just me. It’s me, Spencer.” You sucked in a small, sharp breath at the little crack in his voice when he said his own name. “I love you. I want to be here for you however I can, and I want to be able to help you with whatever I can offer. And as much as I pride myself on knowing you so well, I can’t always read your mind, so I need you to speak up when you’re upset about something. I don’t need you to tell me what you’re upset about; that is,” he added, “if you don’t want to. But just tell me that there’s something bothering you, that you had a not-so-good day so I can try to help you feel better. That’s all.”

He reached out his arms, wrapping one around your back, and the other coming up to the back of your head, pulling you tight against his body. Your head stayed nestled on his shoulder, your breaths quiet on his neck. After laying in silence, eyes less damp, you whispered, “Sometimes it just...all gets too much, y’know?”

Spencer pulled you tighter. “I do,” he responded, desperately trying to keep his voice even enough so you won’t be able to hear how it’s thick with emotion, although he knows you can probably feel his somewhat erratic breathing. His heart was breaking for you; he knew there wasn’t anything he could do to take away your pain completely, and the thought of you having to suffer through anything at all made his throat burn and his eyes sting. But the last thing he wanted to do right now was cry; he knew it would only make you more upset…which was silly, because he only wanted to cry because you were upset in the first place.

After a few more minutes, you broke the silence.

"Spence?"

"Yes?"

"I had a not-so-good day," you said in a small voice.

"I know, love," he replied, rubbing circles into your back. "I know you did."

“Today was the longest day ever. I— I know it’s already kind of late, but I’m really contemplating a nap.”

Spencer nodded. “Go for it,” he said. “Nap."

“I’m just...I’m just gonna stay right here, if that’s okay,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Spencer smiled into your hair, knowing your mind was finally at rest, and listened as your breaths evened out, finally falling into the sleep your body craved. He continued tracing circles into your back and playing with your hair as you slept, and you slept deeper feeling Spencer with you the whole time.

-----

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