r0rysreid

[r0rysreid]

so sorry for the disappearance chat, a lot has happened in my life but i’m finally getting back around to reviving my accounts !

i should be back to writing fics soon, may take a bit cause i’ve had horrible writers block but i’ll be posting asap <3

[r0rysreid]

STEVE HARRINGTON x WALLY CLARK

i disappeared again my bad everyone.. tho update i now have a job and my license! i’ll be attempting to crank out smth this week hopefully, in the meantime enjoy my new obsession

[r0rysreid]

sorry for my lil disappearance chat , trying to be consistent again </3

laying down in the middle of the football field with wally, stargazing together late at night, pointing out consultations to him.

when you lift your hand to point out one of them his follows, fingers intertwining with yours as he tilts his head to follow where you’re pointing.

his head is so close to yours, being able to turn his head and kiss your cheek, watching the smile creep onto your lips as you try to hide your blush from him.

his letterman jacket draped over you despite not being bothered by the cold, the gesture still means a lot, only making you fall for him even harder.

by the time it’s midnight you guys finally head inside, him refusing to let go of your hand as you settle down somewhere for the night, his arms circling around your waist as he pulls you close to his chest.

[r0rysreid]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[r0rysreid]

tutor!spencer reid

blurbs / other

— headcanons / gn!reader

— first kiss / confession / gn!reader

— meeting your mom / gn!reader

— confessions / masc!reader

— enter sandman / gn!reader

parts

— part 1. . . coming soon

[r0rysreid]

“you ever heard of slipknot?” your voice caught his attention, lifting his head to give you a semi-confused expression before he shook his head. “like.. a slip knot? the kind of knot? the way you asked makes me think that’s not what you’re asking.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him before pushing yourself up and out of your chair, gesturing for him to follow after you. “hey- we should really finish your essay before we do anything else.” he protested but followed you anyway, arms crossed over his chest as he did so.

once in your room he watched you go through your cd’s before finding the one you were looking for, quickly popping it into the player and turned it up, making sure it was loud enough.

the second the song started his eyes went wide, staring at the player with a conflicted expression. you waited for at least a minute to pass by before you decided to pause it, looking at him with a somewhat concerned look.

“you okay..?” you asked, watching him closely. he nodded and adjusted his glasses, clearing his throat as he looked back at you. “not my thing. at all.”

you nodded and popped out the cd, putting it back in its case before looking for something else, settling on a metallica cd. “metallica?” you held it up,

you could see the cogs in his brain working overtime as he stared at it, before the lightbulb finally went off and he nodded. “yeah, enter sandman, right?”

[r0rysreid]

tutor!spencer reid x masc!reader

spencer never truly took the time to think about or question his sexuality. he never even took the time to question if he liked anyone, so why would he?

he was fine with not slapping a label on himself, he never felt the need to, especially because he never needed to. it wasn’t like he was dating or anything.

but there was this one boy that made spencer question everything. you.

when he first offered to tutor you it was simple and friendly, no sound of underlining feelings from either of you. sure, he got nervous around you, but that’s just how he was with everyone.

you yourself couldn’t tell how he felt most of the time, but at the end of the day you figured he was just a little weird and brushed it off.

but as time passed he felt.. different. his nerves should have gone away by now, but they only got worse.

when you sat next to him rather than across from him, his hands got sweaty and his face got warm. of course you assumed he simply didn’t like having people so close to him, causing you to stop and sit farther away.

when your hand would brush his from passing work back and forth he would get quiet and stare down at it, ignoring you for a solid minute before clearing his throat and speaking up. you assumed he hated when people touched him, so you opted to slide your papers to him instead.

and lastly the way he would clam up when you asked to study at your house instead of staying after school. you thought he just didn’t get out much so you put up with the uncomfortable library chairs for his sake.

the two of you were oblivious. spencer was doing all these things because he got so nervous around you, he couldn’t help the way butterflies swarmed in his stomach when you made eye contact or how he’s immediately smile when he heard your voice.

meanwhile you started doing all these things because you wanted him to be comfortable, and he seemed to be in a much more comfortable state around you now, which only made the two of you happier.

though spencer wanted to speak on these strange feelings head on. he wanted to know if you felt the same. but, he had no clue how to bring it up without making it awkward.

―୨୧⋆ ˚

you were finishing up an essay for your english class, feeling spencer’s eyes bore into the side of your head, glancing up to catch him zoning out while staring at you.

“you alright, spencer?” you asked quietly, raising your brows as a small amused smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

he blinked a few times and nodded, clearing his throat as he looked down and sunk further into his seat. “i’m okay, just thinking.” he gave you a small smile before he turned his attention to his book.

you nodded and looked back at your paper, mumbling the words to yourself before picking up with writing, once more feeling spencer’s eyes on you.

“do you also feel your stomach flutter when i’m around?” he randomly blurted out, causing you to stop moving as you processed the question. when you didn’t answer he followed it up with something else. “..do you get nervous at all?”

you pursed your lips and glanced up at him, seeing the look of nervousness on his face as he waited for your response.

“are you saying you have a crush on me, spencer?” you tried to hide your smile as you asked, using your hand to hid it as you held your chin up.

he was taken aback by your straight forwardness, looking down at his lap and fidgeted with his watch. he didn’t know his to respond, because he didn’t know if he has a crush on you.

he shrugged, looking back up with a sigh. “i don’t know. you just make me really nervous. do i make you feel that way?” he asked again, brows furrowing as he sunk further into his spot again.

you thought for a few seconds. was this actually happening? spencer was clearly confessing to you without even knowing it, you didn’t wanna admit you liked him if he wasn’t 100% sure.

“maybe.” you mumbled out, looking back down at your paper, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. an awkward silence fell between you, spencer battling his thoughts while you waited for him to say anything else.

he cleared his throat and sat up a little, leaning a bit closer to you from across the table. “do you want to hang out after this? there’s a bakery on my way back home..” you looked back up and smiled a little, before giving him a curious look. “are you asking me on a date?”

the way his face turned red was so cute, only making your smile grow as he stumbled over his words a little before sighing and nodded. “yeah, kinda. only if you want it to be one.”

“yeah, i’d like that. it’s a date.” you reached across and hesitantly grabbed his hand, watching as his fingers quickly curled around yours and squeezed gently. “alright, let me finish my essay now, i’m not gonna start failing because of you.”

[r0rysreid]

ummm can i request jealous spencer? like reader has a boyfriend or spencer thinks she has a boyfriend and he gets all pouty. and then ... soft confession/kisses :)

feel free to ignore if it's not your cup of tea!

btw my criminal minds themed blog is @sweetheartspence !! but alas i cannot send asks from a side blog </3

thank u in advance! hope u have a wonderful day/night

Oh! This is definitely my cup of tea I love love love jealous Spencer 😋

BYR(b4 u Reid): Jealous & mean Spencer Reid :0, teasing, and a bit of fluff toward the end, along w a cute little kiss scene hehe

Jealousy | Spencer Reid

It had been a week. A week since Spencer started noticing the shift in your behavior.

You were… happier. Lighter. More willing to do things for your coworkers than before.

Staying late without complaint, grabbing an extra coffee for someone, taking an extra file without the usual dramatic sigh.

You used to roll your eyes when Morgan pawned off paperwork on you, now you just did it. No protest. No banter.

And then there were the little changes. The way you started painting your nails, the extra time you took with your makeup.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume someone was catching your attention, and truthfully he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Hey.” He called, catching you before you could leave the bullpen. “There’s a movie playing tonight, it’s based in the fifties, and about a serial killer who’d eat his victims. It’s supposed to be really good. Want to come with me?”

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “Aw, Spence, that does sound fun, but I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Oh.” His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening. “No, that’s fine. What are you doing?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Just… something with a friend.” You said vaguely, offering him a small smile.

A friend.

He nodded, forcing a smile. “Nice. Okay. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah.” You agreed before walking away, leaving him standing there.

And it wasn’t just him noticing the change anymore, it was the whole team.

The way you were always texting, checking your phone like you were waiting for something. For someone.

Morgan noticed first, of course.

“Someone seems pretty occupied.” His voice was laced with amusement as he watched your fingers fly over your screen.

You glanced up, blinking. “Yeah, sorry.” You muttered, locking your phone and setting it down.

“Important stuff?” Spencer asks, trying to sound casual.

You shook your head. “No not important at all.”

Morgan snorted. “Right.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” He said, smirking as he leaned back in his seat.

You didn’t buy it, but you let it go, getting up from your spot on the jet and heading toward the restroom.

The second you were gone, Morgan turned toward Spencer, grinning. “That girl is definitely hiding something.”

Spencer’s head snapped to Derek. “Yeah? Like what?” His brows raised, eyes wide.

Morgan’s smirk only grew more. “Woah. Eager, aren’t you, pretty boy?”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’m just curious. Does it seem like she’s acting different? Like… someone is causing her to be like this?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried.”

“Worried?” Spencer scoffed. “About what?”

“That she might be seeing someone.”

Spencer sat up straighter. “I’m not worried.” He said quickly, too quickly. “Just curious. She’s my friend. Don’t you want to know?”

“Yeah, but only because I’m nosey. You, on the other hand…” Morgan tilted his head. “You want to know because you’re scared of losing her.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Losing her? How would I lose her?”

Morgan shrugged, still grinning. “No more movie nights, no more friendly dinners, and definitely no more sleepovers. Your girl is gonna be busy with someone else.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, looking away. “She’s just my friend.”

Morgan let out a low chuckle. “Sure, pretty boy. Keep telling yourself that.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lunch with Spencer had become a routine, quiet escape from the chaos of the BAU. Your usual spot, the same table by the window. Everything felt the same, except Spencer.

He was distracted. Off.

He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut, the one that told him something was going on with you. Something you weren’t telling him. The past week had been filled with too many smiles at your phone, to many whispered conversations with the girls, and too many times you’d turn him down.

So he had to pry a little bit.

“So, uh…how’s everything been?” He tried to keep his voice even, but there was a nervous edge to it.

You furrowed your brows. “How’s what been?”

“Uh, life?”

You smiled, stirring your drink absentmindedly. “Oh, good. Nothing much outside of work. Just busy.” You paused. “Why?”

Spencer shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just wondering if anything has changed in your life.”

You eyed him for a second, suspicious. “Oh…okay. Well no. Not really. You?”

“No. The same. Work and home. That’s about it.”

“Nice.” You said simply

There was a beat of silence before Spencer tried again. “Can I come over tonight? I’ve been wanting to play this new game I got.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “Oh, my house? It’s kind of a mess. Maybe we can do it at yours instead?”

His grip on his fork tightened. A mess? That was the excuse? Since when did you care if he saw your place like that? Unless… you were hiding something? Someone?

Had the person you were seeing already moved in?

The thought sent a sharp, unwelcoming sting through his chest.

“Yes.” He said, a little too quickly. “My house is good. Is eight okay with you?”

You nodded, smiling. “Perfect.”

Then your phone buzzed, and before he could say anything else, you grabbed it. You didn’t just check it, you smiled at it. A real, genuine smile.

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek.

Something burned in his stomach. Jealously.

It was stupid. Irrational. He had not right to be upset. You weren’t his.

But he was upset.

“We should go back now.” He said abruptly.

You glanced at the time. “We still have some time, though.”

He clears his throat. “I’m not really feeling good.”

Your brows knit tighter in concern. “Oh. Okay.”

You don’t question it. And that made him feel worse.

Back at the office, he watched as you practically sprinted to JJ, Emily, and Penelope. The four of you huddled together, whispering, giggling.

Spencer tried to listen, straining to hear past the office noise, but all he caught were Penelope’s dramatic gasps and high-pitched “oh my gods.”

And then-

“We need to meet him.” JJ says.

Spencer could’ve fainted right there.

Meet who?

Why did they get to know, and he didn’t? He thought you were closer than that.

“Maybe Friday night?” You suggested. “We can all get together. He’d love to meet the team.”

Spencer’s stomach twisted. He.

Who the hell was he?

He felt sick.

But no one noticed the way his face fell, the way his fingers dug into his palm as he clenched his fists.

“Yes, Friday!” Penelope clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll tell the guys! Derek loves a night out at the bar.”

“Alright, I’ll let him know.” You said, smiling at the girls before heading back to your desk.

Spencer, however, turned on his heel and walked straight to the restroom, locking himself in a stall to breathe.

By the end of the workday, he’d barely spoken to you. He wasn’t even sure he could without his feelings slipping out in some pathetic, embarrassing way.

But then you ran into him on your way out.

“Hey.” You greeted, smiling up at him. “Still up for that game?”

Spencer hesitated, shifting on his feet. His emotions were too raw, too tangled. The thought of sitting alone with you tonight, knowing Friday he was probably going to have to come face to face with that guy, made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“I, umm…” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m still not feeling good. Maybe next time.”

Your face fell slightly, and it made his chest ache. “I can still come over and make you some soup? Or we can watch a movie?”

For a brief second, he melted. Your voice was so soft, so you. Sincere. You cared about him. But then reality him, maybe you were like this with him, too. Maybe you were sending him sweet messages, making him laugh, offering him soup when he wasn’t feeling well.

The thought made his stomach turn.

“Uh, no.” He said, voice flat. “I want to be alone.”

Something flickered across your face, something confused and a little hurt. “Oh. Okay. Well… get better. Let me know if you do want my company. I’d love to stop by.”

Spencer swallows hard. “Yeah.”

Then he turned and walked away before you could see just how much he hated this.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

By Friday everyone had noticed, Spencer was off.

His usual, quiet, awkward charm had been replaced by something sharper, something angry. He was short with everyone, but mostly with you.

“Are you okay, Spencer?” You finally asked, cautiously approaching his desk.

His eyes lifted from the case file in front of him, sharp and unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You frowned. “You’ve just been…I don’t know. Different.”

Spencer let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Me? Different?” His voice was laced with sarcasm. “Right. I’m different.”

Your brows knit together. “Did I do something?”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do. I need to focus.” His tone was clipped, dismissive.

Morgan appeared behind you, catching enough of the conversation to raise an eyebrow. “Hey man. just chill.”

“I am chill.” Spencer snapped, jaw tight. “Just both of you. Go.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re acting like a child, but fine. I’ll go.”

Morgan watched you walk off before turning back to Spencer with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Man, you’re scaring her off.”

“Why should I care?” Spencer muttered, flipping a page in his file like it didn’t matter. “She’s taken.”

Morgan scoffed. “Because she’s your friend, and she cares about you. You’re treating her like garbage.”

Spencer didn’t answer. Just clenched his jaw and stared at the file like it could somehow fix what was wrong with him.

Morgan sighed. “You’re gonna regret this, kid.” Then he walked off, leaving Spencer alone with the gnawing, unbearable feeling twisting in his gut.

Later, in the break room, Emily found you pouring yourself a coffee.

“Hey! Have you asked Spencer if he’s coming tonight?”

You sighed. “No. Honestly, I’m kind of scared to talk to him right now. He seems off.”

Emily’s lips pressed together. “Yeah, I’ve noticed too.”

“I’ll try again.” You said, exhaling “maybe he just needs time to cool off.”

Emily nodded. “Hope it goes well.”

With your coffee in hand, you made your way back through the bullpen. You passed Spencer’s desk, and once again, found the same hard expression on his face. He didn’t even look at you.

But you weren’t giving up on him.

Two hours later, you decided to try again.

You walked over and casually perched yourself on his desk, something you’d done a hundred times before. But this time, Spencer tensed. Like he wanted you off.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

His eyes flicked up. “Hey.”

“Are you coming to the bar tonight? I’d love it if you came.”

Spencer swallowed. “I—I don’t know. Bars aren’t really my thing. You know that.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know, but someone really important is coming, and I’d love for you to meet him.”

Spencer inhaled sharply.

Important. You had to say it like that? Right to his face?

His fingers twitched against his desk. “Yeah, I-I don’t think so.”

You pouted. “Spencer, please. He’s so funny, so cool. The girls already love him, and I know you guys would. He’s such a good guy, you need to meet him.”

His entire body went rigid.

He wanted to snap. He wanted to yell. But instead, he just clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“No.” His voice was sharp, and final.

You gave him those wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

He shook his head.

“Alright.” You sighed, standing up. “Well, if you change your mind, it’s at Rudy’s. I really want you there.”

Before leaving, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His breath hitched.

“I’m here if you need to talk.” You murmured. Then you walked away.

And Spencer ?

He dropped his head into his hands, exhaling sharply.

He felt awful.

Why was he like this? He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control his jealousy, the anger, the way his emotions spiraled out of control every time he thought about you with someone else.

And worst of all?

He knew he was hurting you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bar was packed, the energy high. Everyone laughed, letting loose after a long exhausting week.

You were happy, smiling, surrounded by your team. But still, you couldn’t help but miss the one person who wasn’t there.

“He’s not coming.” JJ said gently, watching the way your smile faltered.

You sighed. “He hates me. And I don’t even know why.”

JJ shook her head. “He could never hate you. That boy practically worships the ground you walk on.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Then why does it feel like there’s nothing left for us? I should've made a move when things were good. Now it’s like… he's a different person. And I'm scared he doesn't want me.”

“Just give him time.” JJ said, squeezing your shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

You gave her a small smile before heading to the bar, sipping your drink.

Then.

“Can I sit?”

Your head snapped up. And there he was.

Spencer.

Your heart leapt. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.”

He shrugged, slipping into the seat beside you. “I changed my mind, I guess.”

“Good.” You beamed. “I’m so happy.”

His eyes softened. “Uh, so where’s that guy?”

“Oh, Brian? He’s running a bit late, should be here soon through.”

Spencer exhaled, forcing a nod.

“Come on, let’s sit with the group.”

Before he could process it, you grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the booth where the team sat. His pulse kicked up at the contact.

As soon as the team saw him, a cheer erupted.

“Look who finally decided to have a life!” Penelope teased.

Spencer forced a smile, sliding into the booth beside you.

For awhile, things felt normal. Drinks flowed, conversations bounced between cases, childhood memories, and ridiculous office gossip. It was the kind of night that made you all feel less like FBI agents and more like lifelong friends.

Until.

“So, this guy we’re meeting…” Rossi drawled sipping his whiskey with an amused smile.

Spencer tensed.

You lit up. “Yes! His name is Brian! I’ve told him all about you guys, and he cannot wait to meet all of you.”

Spencer swallowed hard.

“He’s amazing.”

Spencer rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

Luckily, no one seemed to notice his reaction.

Then, your name was called.

Spencer’s stomach dropped, this was the moment he had to come face to face with his fears.

You turned, your entire face brightening as you ran into the arms of some guy. You hugged him tightly. Held on to him like he was the best part of your night.

Spencer was sick.

“Guys, this is Brian, my best friend.” You introduced him, glancing around the group. But when your eyes landed on Spencer’s empty seat, your heart sank. He was gone. A knot formed in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

The team greeted Brian warmly, and soon, conversation flowed easily. It didn’t take long for everyone to love him, he was energetic, kind, and full of the craziest stories that had the group laughing.

“So, Brian, what made you want to move here?” Emily asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Well,” Brian grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “This girl right here told me there was a lot of cute guys out here, so I figured, why not? Hot guys and my best friend? Seemed like a no-brainer.”

He smirked, blatantly eyeing Hotch and Derek.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Derek had managed to slip away from the group, and go with Spencer who was at the bar, nursing a drink that seemed like it hadn’t been sipped on.

“Alright, pretty boy. What’s your deal?”

Spencer didn’t even look at him. “I can’t watch her be with him.”

Derek let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “Look, man, you’re spiraling. You need to go talk to your girl. Seriously.”

“She isn’t my girl, she has a boyfriend.”

Derek rubbed his face like Spencer was exhausting him. “Quit your pouting and go talk to her. Before the night ends.”

Spencer didn’t respond.

Derek groaned and walked off, leaving Spencer with his own miserable thoughts.

He turned toward the booth again, watching you.

You were smiling and having fun but he knew when it was genuine and when it wasn’t, and right now it wasn’t.

A weight settled in his chest.

So he made his choice.

Pushing off the bar, he crossed the room, weaving through the crowd until he was in front of you.

You looked up, surprised, but your expression softened. “Spencer, you’re back.”

His voice was low. “Can we talk?”

You studied his face, concern flickering across your features before you nodded.

Without another word, he took your hand and led you somewhere quieter, somewhere just for the two of you.

You both sat down, the buzz of the teams laughter and music muffled by the distance. There was a silencer between you, not uncomfortable. You didn't say anything. You were waiting... For him.

Spencer was thinking. If the man had steam coming out of his ears, you wouldn't even be surprised.

Finally, his eyes met yours. “I’m sorry.” he said softly.

He gave your hand that was still in his a gentle squeeze, you should've pulled away because truthfully, he didn't deserve to hold it, but you couldn't.

“I’m sorry I was being a-”

“An ass?” you filled in, no hesitation.

His jaw dropped slightly at your bluntness before he sighed in surrender. “Yeah… I deserved that.”

You nodded. “You did.”

Then your voice lowered, a little more vulnerable. “What did I do, Spencer?”

His shoulders sank under the weight of your words, he couldn’t believe he made you feel like it was all your fault. “Nothing. God, you didn’t do anything.” He said. He couldn’t even look at you.

You followed his gaze and it was on Brian, so it all clicked together for you.

“Be honest.” You urged gently.

His eyes flicked to you, guilt written all over his face. “I was jealous.”

“By who?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it from him.

“Brian.” He muttered, looking down at his shoes like they might offer an escape. You tilted your head. “Brian?”

You could’ve teased him. Let him stew a little more, just for the hell of it. But he already looked like he’d been spiraling all week, and the truth was, you didn’t want to see him in pain, not when you cared about him this much.

“Spencer, Brian’s not into me.” You said. His head snapped up. “How?” He asked, baffled. “You’re- you’re perfect.”

You chuckled, shoulders lifting in a little shrug. “I’m not his type.” You glanced toward the booth where Brian was now leaned in, laughing at something Derek was saying. “But I think Derek might be.”

Spencer tracked your gaze, eyes narrowing in that profiler way of his. One second. Two. He blinked.

“Oh.”

The air left his lungs in a rush, like someone had cut the string pulling his jealousy tight.

But then his brows furrowed again. “Then why have you been different lately? Happier. Dressing up. You stopped inviting me over…”

You smirked. “Didn’t know you were paying so much attention, Dr. Reid.”

He flushed.

“Brian and I moved in together. That’s why I’ve been in a better mood, I guess. It’s nice having my best friend from home close. And yeah, I’ve been putting more effort in… but that’s because I’ve been trying to get the attention of this one genius loser I work with.”

Spencer blinked. That trademark genius brain of his clearly went offline.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “You, Spence. It’s you.”

His lips parted, like the words were there but stuck. “I-I just didn’t want to assume.”

You gave him a playful look. “Right.”

He looked lighter now, like the guilt and confusion he’d been carrying and finally lifted.

“I really like you.” He said, voice more confident now. He leaned in a little. “And I-I want to make everything up to you.”

You raised brow. “Oh yeah? How?”

He smiled nervously. “Can I take you to dinner?”

You nodded slowly, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. “I’d like that…and?”

He bit his lip, thinking. “Movies…and then we can go back to my place and play that game I was telling you about?”

You nodded. “Not bad. It’ll be perfect if you also take on a couple of my files for a month.”

He groaned but smiled. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Your guys eyes locked on each others, and you weren’t sure who leaned in first. It didn’t matter.

The moment your lips met, it was soft, hesitant, but warm. Then Spencer deepened the kiss, one hand rising to cup your jaw, his other still holding you hand tightly like he couldn’t let go. His tongue slid across your lips, and you let him in.

You guys moved in sync, like you were perfect for each other.

And like this is where you guys were supposed to be.

You kissed until the need for air pulled you apart. Both of you stared, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“I was supposed to be mad at you a little longer.” You teased, he grinned smug. “Can I kiss you again so you won’t?”

You giggled. “Maybe.”

He leaned in again. This kiss was sweeter and gentler like he had gotten all the desperate need for you out with the first kiss. Now, he just wanted to continue feeling your lips on his, even if it was just a peck.

“I can do this all night.” You tell him

“I can too.”

And with that, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s company for the rest of the night. The team didn’t interrupt or tease, they simply let you be, giving you the space to enjoy the quiet warmth between you. It was easy, comfortable, like everything had finally fallen into place…

@beeintheskies Hope you love this<3 it was so fun to write, thank you for your request!

Divider from @hyuneskkami

[r0rysreid]

hello athena! i’m a big fan of your work, than you for writing and blessing my everyday life! i would like to request a fic if that is okay? spencer x reader where you know how he asks the team (mostly emily) to go watch movies to plays etc. and while all of them are like saying no reader is always down. the rest of the team tease her because she has no idea what he wants to see and googles it most times and spencer thinks she is just interested in the same things as him and doesn’t realize she is interested in HIM until like idk morgan tells him and then spence asks the reader out for real.

interest — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <3

Morgan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as he watched Spencer excitedly chat about the upcoming festival he was planning to attend.

He’d been going on and on about it for days now, and it was the same story every time—how excited he was, how it was going to be a great experience, and how he was hoping one of the team members would join him. 

As expected, you smiled and said yes. 

The moment Spencer left, still beaming from ear to ear, Morgan watched as you pulled out your phone. Without skipping a beat, you began typing into Google, searching for more details about the event you’d just agreed to go to.

Morgan could barely suppress a laugh at how predictable it had become. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed this. It had been happening for months now—Spencer would eagerly ask if you’d join him for a festival or some film screening, and you would always agree.

Spencer, with his brilliant mind and endless knowledge, had no idea. He was completely oblivious.

He honestly believed that you were agreeing to attend these events because you genuinely shared his love for obscure films or niche festivals.

But that wasn’t it at all.

No, it became glaringly obvious to Morgan that you were going with Spencer because you wanted to spend time with him—because you had feelings for him. 

The more Morgan watched you, the clearer it became.

Morgan had seen it so many times now—he’d watched you research each event with such intent, absorbing every detail.

It was a bittersweet sight to watch.

Morgan sighed, a little frustrated with the whole situation. How had Spencer not noticed? It was so obvious to everyone around them—how much you two were meant to be, how much you clearly cared for each other, and how much you were both missing. 

The next time it happened, Morgan had finally had enough.

He couldn't stand watching Spencer remain oblivious any longer. It was time for a conversation—one way or another. He stood up from his seat and made his way straight to Spencer’s desk during lunch. 

"Reid," Morgan called as he leaned against Spencer’s desk with his arms crossed, a serious look on his face. 

Spencer looked up from his files, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Hmm?” 

“I need to talk to you,” Morgan said, his tone firm. 

At that, Spencer dropped the pen in his hand and sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued. “What’s up?” he asked, leaning slightly back in his chair.

Morgan didn’t waste any time. “Are the two of you going out again?” he asked.

Spencer’s face lit up instantly, a wide smile spreading across his features. “Yes! We’re actually going to a—” 

Morgan cut him off, unable to keep the words bottled up any longer. “You do know that she has no idea what any of this is, right?” 

Spencer’s smile faltered, and he blinked at Morgan in confusion. “What?” 

Morgan sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “Look, man, I see her googling everything that you talk about.” 

Spencer stared at him, still slightly confused. 

“The theater show you guys went to two weeks ago?” Morgan continued. “Yeah, she had no clue what it was about. She spent almost the entire afternoon googling it. She even went to Rossi, asking him about it because she figured it was a classic and he’d know more about it.” 

Spencer’s face scrunched up as he processed Derek’s words. “No, I think you got that wrong. She likes—” 

Morgan cut him off again, this time with more urgency. “She likes you, man. She has feelings for you. She’s not going along with this because she’s passionate about the stuff you’re into. She’s doing it because she wants to be around you—because she’s in love with you.” 

The silence between them stretched for a few moments.

“Wait… what?” Spencer muttered, still in denial. “No, she wouldn’t—” 

Morgan rubbed his temples in frustration. “Come on, Reid. Everyone can see it. She agrees to go to all these things with you, even though she doesn’t know the first thing about what you’re into. She looks up everything, makes sure she knows what’s going on. She doesn’t just do that for anyone. She does it because she wants to be with you, to impress you.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to argue again, but Morgan could see the hesitation in his eyes now, the faint flicker of realization beginning to make its way through.

“Look, I get it,” Morgan continued, softening his tone a little. “You’re not exactly the most socially aware guy when it comes to this stuff. But you’re not blind, either. She’s been trying to get closer to you, and you’ve been letting her. If you can’t see that by now, then I don’t know what else to tell you.” 

Spencer just stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

For a moment, Morgan almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

“You’re not as clueless as you think you are, Reid,” he added with a small smile. “But you might want to start paying more attention.” 

Morgan saw the wheels turning in Spencer's head, and he knew that hesitation was going to be his biggest obstacle. Spencer was brilliant, no doubt about it, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was as clueless as they came. Morgan gave a long, exasperated sigh and leaned in closer to Spencer's desk, locking eyes with him. 

"Alright, Reid," Morgan said, his voice low but firm. "This is what you need to do." 

Spencer blinked, still looking uncertain. "What? What do I need to do?" 

"You need to ask her out, man. Seriously." Morgan replied as he crossed his arms.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and Morgan could see the nerves creeping in. He let out a breath, trying to soften his approach. "Look, I know you’re not used to this kind of thing, but you’re both grown adults. She’s not going to bite your head off, man. She wants you to ask her. And if you don’t, someone else might."

Spencer froze, his eyes widening. “Wait, someone else?” 

Morgan smirked. “Yeah, someone else. The way I see it, she’s clearly interested in you, but if you don’t step up, you might just lose your chance. Don’t let someone else swoop in while you’re sitting around overthinking everything.” 

Spencer went silent, his mind clearly racing.

Morgan wasn’t sure whether it was the idea of someone else showing interest in you that struck a nerve or the fact that he was now realizing just how much he might be missing. 

“You need to stop waiting for the perfect moment, Reid,” Morgan added, his voice softer now. “Just ask her.” 

Spencer shifted in his seat, eyes fixed on his desk as if the words were slowly sinking in. "You really think...?" 

“Yeah, I do.” Morgan nodded, giving him a quick, encouraging smile.

For a moment, Spencer didn’t say anything, just stared at his hands. Morgan could tell that he was still processing everything.

Morgan gave a small, approving nod and stood up straight. “So, are you going to do it?” 

Spencer looked up at him, a little more resolved now. “I… I think I will.” 

Morgan slapped Spencer on the back with a grin. “Good. Now get to it, genius.” 

And Spencer did.

The moment you returned from your lunch break, Spencer was already standing at your desk, looking more nervous than usual. He cleared his throat, hands slightly trembling as he shifted from foot to foot. You paused in the doorway, surprised by his presence. 

“Hey, Spencer,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What’s up?” 

Spencer blinked, then seemed to gather his thoughts, taking a deep breath. He’d never been good at this kind of thing.

“Um, hey,” he said, voice a little shakier than he intended. He bit his lip for a second, his mind racing. “So, I… I wanted to ask you something.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, what’s up?” 

Spencer hesitated for a moment, and you could see his mind working, calculating the best way to phrase it. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“You, uh… you know, the film festival we’re going to this weekend?” Spencer finally blurted out, his voice a little too loud in the otherwise quiet office. “I was thinking... maybe... we could, uh, go together? I mean, we are doing that, but... I mean, like, not just as, uh, friends, but... maybe as, you know—” He stopped himself, realizing how much he was rambling. 

You blinked in confusion, trying to process his words. It was clear he was trying to get to something, but it wasn't exactly clear what that something was. 

“You mean... you want to go together... as more than just friends?” you asked carefully, your heart beating a little faster now. Spencer's eyes widened, and he quickly nodded. 

"Yeah. I mean, if that’s something you’d want. I—I just—" He paused, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m not great at this kind of thing. But... I really like spending time with you. More than just... you know... going to events. I like you. A lot. And I... I think you might feel the same way. At least I hope you do.” 

For a moment, everything went quiet.

You felt a grin tug at your lips, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, breathless laugh. “Spencer, are you trying to ask me out?” 

He froze, his face turning a little pink. “Uh... yeah. I guess I am.” 

You smiled warmly, leaning forward slightly. “Well, if you’re asking me on a date, then… yes, I’d love to go.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t fully prepared for this outcome. You could see the gears turning in his mind, processing your words, trying to determine if he had actually heard you correctly. 

Before he could overanalyze, you bit your lip, a soft chuckle escaping as you added, “And yes, Spencer, I do feel the same way.” 

The way his breath hitched didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the way his hands twitched slightly—like he wasn’t sure what to do with them now that the truth was out in the open.

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Instead, he simply stared at you, as if committing this moment to memory. Your heart swelled at the sight of his stunned expression, the nervous excitement flickering in his eyes.

Unable to resist, you reached out, gently placing a hand over his for just a second before leaning in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. 

The moment your lips brushed his skin, Spencer inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid. When you pulled away, you could see the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. 

“I’ll see you at the festival,” you murmured with a smile, standing up and giving him one last lingering look before heading back to work. 

Spencer remained frozen in place for several seconds, blinking rapidly before finally exhaling, his fingers grazing the spot where your lips had been. 

Morgan, watching from across the bullpen, smirked and shook his head. “About damn time.” 

[r0rysreid]

little dad!spencer fic because i was ovulating :)

oliver's little legs hang off the edge of yours and spencer's bed, swinging as he waits. he's patient, but antsy, bouncing lightly on the mattress, as you go to grab a pair of socks from his dresser.

you kneel by his feet, tucking your fingers into the sock and stretching it out so it can fit over his toes. giggling when you tickle him, you pull the sock over his ankle and hold out the opposite one for his other foot. 

he pulls his leg away with a huff, prompting you to look up at him, confused. his eyebrows crease, a stubborn line blooming down the middle, big eyes squinting, an expression eerily similar to a certain someone you know.

"come on, little man. we gotta put your socks on or you can’t wear your shoes," you murmur, reaching out with prying fingers.

he squirms further away. with an air of defiance, he folds his arms over his chest, an adorable pout tugging at his lips. 

"no, i wanna wear 'nother one like daddy," he grumbles.

of course, the first thing your child would pick up from both of you would be his father's tendency to never wear the same socks. 

and speak of the devil, spencer walks in, black velcro shoes in hand as he takes in the scene before him. you turn on your knees to face him and point a lazy, accusatory finger in his direction.

"you're teaching our son bad habits."

he frowns, affronted, confused by the unimpressed yet amused expression on your face. "what did i do?" he asks, his voice trailing higher toward the end like it usually does.

you dangle the rejected sock between your fingers. "he doesn't want to wear the matching pair; he says he wants to wear another one like daddy."

you think the look he gives you could knock you off your feet if your knees weren't so firmly planted on the ground. he smiles, ecstatic and proud, eyes wide and crinkling at the corners as he crouches in front of your son with you.

"is that right?" spencer coos up at the boy, holding his calf in his hand. you still can't seem to get over how small he is.

oliver nods curtly. you can't help but break into a smile. jumping to your feet, you quickly go to get a different pair.

"you're in charge of pairing his socks after laundry," you say when you return, handing a purple and blue striped sock to spencer that contrasts with the orange of the other one. 

"gladly," he grins. you watch as he carefully puts it on, slipping on oliver's shoes as well. “happy?”

oliver grins, one that he undoubtedly inherited from his father, jumping off the bed in a way that almost frightens you but doesn't, as spencer's hand quickly secures itself around his waist, catching him. 

spencer pulls the little boy into his lap, and his fingers mercilessly begin to tickle him. oliver squirms and squirms, trying to escape, but spencer's arms keep him caged in. gasping giggles fill the room, mingled with your own chuckles. 

spencer's gaze drifts to you when he hears you laugh; god, he loves that sound.

with a shared, mischievous glance between the two of them–one that you don't notice–the attack shifts to you. spencer lifts oliver from his lap to yours, little hands reaching out to grab and scrunch at your stomach, not quite tickling you, but enough to leave you writhing. 

you yelp, falling backward as the onset of poking surprises you. spencer's hand cushions the back of your head before it hits the ground, his fingers moving under your arms and tickling you as well.

“hey! no fai-” you gasp, interrupted by another laugh that bubbles out of you. you clutch your stomach, trying to cover the area of weakness, but you're no match for oliver's eager fingers. he pokes at your belly like he's pressing buttons, and spencer thinks it's hilarious. 

he doubles over as if it's the funniest thing he's ever seen; you’re gonna kill him.

spencer lingers just below your armpit, where he knows you’re more sensitive, laughing, like he’s the one being tickled. you’re a mess, breathless with hair sticking to your face, your abdomen is starting to ache from exertion, when, finally-

saved by the bell–literally, as it rings through the apartment–penelope arrives. she unlocks the door with her set of backup keys, the sound providing you a brief reprieve as it distracts oliver.

“honey, i’m home! the sun is out and a picnic is a-calling,” she announces, sing-song, from the living room.

you breathe out a sigh of relief when oliver hops off you, sprinting to see his auntie penelope.

“slow down,” spencer calls after him, still chuckling quietly as he sits by your head, while you catch your breath. 

“you are so done for,” you pant. “you better sleep with one eye open tonight, doctor reid.”

“oh, official titles. i’m terrified,” he feigns surrender as he looms over you, albeit upside down.

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, looking up at him with a glare. it softens, however, when his big hands cradle your face. your eyes flutter shut for just a moment as you try to maintain the annoyed facade and ignore how warm his palms are.

“you love me,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. he leans down to kiss you, still upside down, his chin pressing against your nose. you begrudgingly kiss him back, your lips curling into a smile when he hums.

“c’mon, a picnic is a-calling.”

[r0rysreid]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬➳♡

Spencer Reid x reader fanfiction

summary: What starts as a simple bookstore date turns into something far more meaningful when you discover Spencer’s handwritten annotations in the margins of the book he chose for you—tiny love notes hidden between the lines, each one more heartfelt than the last.

w/c: 2,500

a/n: the only warning is the potential risk of heart melting with how sappy the story is. I literally loved writing this, enjoy!!

The first thing you notice is warmth. The kind that seeps into your skin and settles in your bones, the kind that makes the thought of leaving the bed absolutely unbearable. The second thing you notice is the weight of Spencer’s arm draped over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns on your bare shoulder.

You’re still teetering on the edge of sleep, wrapped in the soft cocoon of early morning drowsiness, but there’s an awareness now—a quiet, unspoken knowledge that you are being watched. Not in a scrutinizing way, not even in the way he watches people when he’s profiling, but in a way that feels reverent, like he’s memorizing every detail of this moment as if he’s afraid it might slip through his fingers.

You blink your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the soft golden light filtering through the curtains. And there he is—Spencer, his head propped on his hand, his curls a mess from sleep, hazel eyes filled with something impossibly tender.

“How did I get so lucky?” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. The words slip past his lips like a secret, as though he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

His fingers pause for the briefest moment before resuming their slow, meandering path over your skin, mapping the curve of your shoulder, the length of your arm, the delicate dip of your wrist. It’s an unconscious habit of his—always touching, always grounding himself in the reality of you.

“I mean it,” he says, his voice quieter this time, like he’s still caught between dreaming and waking. “Sometimes I think about all the things that had to happen for us to end up here, in this bed, on this morning… and it doesn’t feel real.”

You shift slightly, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. His face is so open in this moment, so unguarded. You reach up, brushing a few stray curls away from his forehead, letting your fingers linger against his temple.

“It’s real,” you whisper, watching the way his eyes soften even more. “We’re real.”

His lips part like he wants to say something else, but instead, he just leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then another, this time against your cheek, then your nose, until he’s finally pressing the softest, sleepiest kiss against your lips.

You sigh into him, your hands slipping into his hair, and he makes a content sound against your mouth, like he could stay in this moment forever. And honestly? You could, too.

⸻

After that the day begins the way all the best ones do—slow, unhurried, wrapped in the soft golden glow of morning.

Spencer is still warm beside you, tangled in the sheets, half-awake but unwilling to leave the comfort of bed just yet. You trace lazy patterns against his skin, mirroring the way he had done to you earlier. He hums in response, his arm tightening around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“You’re still here,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Where else would I be?”

His lips curve into a smile against your skin as he pulls you even closer, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away despite your words. “Stay forever?”

It’s a question he asks sometimes, though always in the quiet moments, always when he thinks you won’t remember. But you do. You always do.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his curls. “Not today. Not ever.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a long time, the two of you just exist like that—wrapped up in each other, breathing in sync.

It’s nearly noon when you finally untangle yourselves from the sheets, reluctantly leaving the warmth of your shared cocoon. Over coffee, Spencer proposes the idea of a bookstore date, his eyes lighting up the way they always do when he talks about books.

“There’s a place I think you’d love,” he says, setting his mug down. “It’s small, but it has the most incredible selection. And the owner always lets me browse for as long as I want without judging me.”

You smile, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Let’s go.”

⸻

The bookstore is exactly what you’d imagined—a quiet little shop tucked away between two taller buildings, with ivy creeping up its brick facade and large, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a glimpse of the magic inside.

Spencer holds the door open for you, a small, unconscious gesture that makes your heart swell. The moment you step inside, you’re surrounded by the scent of old paper and warm wood, the soft sound of pages turning mingling with the faint hum of classical music playing from a record player in the corner.

Spencer practically vibrates with excitement as he leads you through the aisles, his fingers grazing book spines as he murmurs their titles under his breath.

“This place is heaven,” you say, running your fingers along a row of well-worn classics.

Spencer grins. “I know.”

You could spend hours here, lost in the quiet magic of it all, but then an idea strikes you.

“We should pick books for each other,” you suggest, watching as Spencer’s eyes flick to yours, bright with curiosity.

“You mean, I pick something for you, and you pick something for me?”

You nod, smiling. “Something that reminds us of each other.”

Spencer’s lips part slightly, as if he’s about to argue that no book could ever truly capture the depth of his feelings for you. But then he just nods, a slow, thoughtful smile creeping across his face.

“I love this idea.”

And just like that, you separate, disappearing into different sections of the store.

You take your time, searching for something that feels like Spencer—something with heart, with depth, with words that carry the weight of all the things he feels but doesn’t always say. You find yourself drawn to a book of poetry, the kind filled with quiet longing and aching tenderness. It reminds you of the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t watching, of the way he leaves love pressed into the spaces between your fingers every time he holds your hand.

When you return to the front of the store, Spencer is already waiting for you, cradling a book in his hands like it’s something precious.

“I think I found the perfect one,” he says softly, glancing down at the cover before passing it to you.

You exchange books, fingers brushing in the process, and his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“Ready to go?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, but you already know you won’t be able to wait until you get home to start reading.

⸻

That night, curled up in bed with the book Spencer chose for you, you find something you hadn’t expected—tiny, handwritten annotations in the margins.

Your breath catches as you tilt the book toward the warm glow of the bedside lamp, scanning over the careful scrawl of his handwriting.

I thought you’d like this passage. It reminds me of the way you see the world—soft and full of wonder.

You run your fingers over the ink, your heart aching in the most beautiful way.

A few pages later, another note:

This line made me think of you immediately. It’s the way I feel every time you look at me like I’m something special.

You blink rapidly against the sudden sting of tears, flipping through the pages more urgently now, searching for more.

And they’re everywhere. Tiny, thoughtful notes hidden between lines of text, some analytical, some teasing, but most of them impossibly tender.

This part made me stop reading for a second because it felt too much like us.

I love the way this author describes love—it reminds me of how I feel when I’m with you.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to contain the warmth blooming there.

And then, near the very last page, you find the one that undoes you completely.

I chose this book because it’s about love in its purest form—quiet, unwavering, and life-changing. The kind of love I feel for you.

The book slips from your hands as you inhale sharply, overwhelmed.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You simply set the book aside and reach for Spencer, curling into his warmth without a word.

He makes a soft, sleepy sound of surprise, his arms instinctively wrapping around you.

“You found them,” he murmurs against your hair, already knowing.

You nod against his chest. “Spencer…”

His hand finds yours under the sheets, his fingers lacing through yours. “Did you like them?”

Tears prick at your eyes as you lift your head, pressing a lingering kiss to his jaw. “I loved them. I love you.”

His breath catches, and then he’s kissing you—slow and reverent, like he’s pouring every unsaid word into the space between you. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.

“I meant every word,” he whispers. “Every single one.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, with the weight of his love pressed into your skin like ink on a page, you know—this is the greatest story you will ever be a part of.

[r0rysreid]

Love the Wally fluff pretty please may we have some more 🙏🏻

alive!wally clark x theater!reader

so sorry i haven’t posted in a bit i got lots on my schedule, im trying to make a comeback!! anyway im pushing the wally x theater kid agenda with this one, its so short my apologies i had horrible writers block

wally was no short of obsessed with you. not in a creepy, stalker way, of course. but in a golden retriever missing its owner way.

he adored you with every sense of the word, his eyes always on you, ears perking up at the sound of your voice, face heating up at every slight touch. his gaze would never leave you no matter where you are, he’d always wait for you after school, no matter how late you were staying.

this was especially true when it was show time. rehearsals were coming to an end, after school practice was cutting closer and closer to midnight, the time you got to spend with wally was practically cut in half.

he took advantage of when football would drag on long enough for him to drive you home from your rehearsal, occasionally making sure to bring you food incase you hadn’t eaten since lunch, keeping extra snacks and a hoodie in his car for you.

he swore up and down he would be there for the actual performance, even getting there early so he could grab a seat close enough to the auditorium stage. he wouldn’t miss it for the world to finally watch you, he had been waiting for this for ages, he even bought his ticket the second they started selling them.

of course, he was there. sat in the second closest row, joined by your parents and friends filling out more seats. he chose the seat on the very end, so when the show was finally over he could be the first to go up to you.

he wasn’t paying much attention to anything at first, his eyes darting around a few times before focusing on a random prop in the middle of the stage.

him being there added to your nerves a bit, but it brushed over the second you had to get into character. every so often you’d glance into the audience and see him immediately staring at you, a look of awe in his eyes and a goofy smile plastered on his lips.

his gaze never left you until you were officially and fully out of view, leaving him missing you for the few moments you weren’t out on stage.

sure, he was being a total dork right now, but he couldn’t help it. he was always like this with you. you just looked so pretty up there, you can’t blame him.

after what felt like forever to him, the cast and crew took their bows and went to go greet family and friends in the hallway and auditorium, with him quickly jumping out of his seat to go find you before anyone could take your attention from him.

“babe!” he called out, walking over to you and leant down to kiss you cheek, an arm wrapping around you and pulling you into his side. “you did amazing.”

you couldn’t help but smile, hugging him tightly for a few seconds. “thank you, walls. i could practically feel you staring at me the entire time.”

he shrugged and rubbed your arm, looking over his shoulder to see your family and friends approaching, a sigh escaping his lips as he looked back down at you.

“they’re gonna steal you from me.” he pouted dramatically, earning a laugh from you. “i’ll meet up with you afterwards, it’s okay. just wait out in the parking lot for me. the cast is heading out for food anyway, you can just tag along.”

a smile quickly replace his pout, nodding before leaning down to kiss you, sighing against your lips as he pulled you in closer by your waist. he had to pull himself back before he started making out with you in-front of everyone—though who knows what would happen when he finally got you alone—, leaving you with a quick kiss on your head before walking away.

[r0rysreid]

HEY, HEY, HEY, LOVER ! s. reid x reader, smau

𝓢ynopsis: texting your boyfriend means equal parts ‘i love you’ & random trivias at all hours of the day.

𝓦arnings: grammatical errors. ooc(?). clingy! spencer. spence types in lowercase,,, mostly. dramatic! spencer. down bad!spencer.

𝓝otes:

001. ihave moidea..

002. the warnings already says it all,,, &&&& probs in early seasons!spencer.

003. clingy!spence is part of the warnings,,, so... yeah..

004. i can't add the sparkly dividers bc 😞😞

005. the facts spender typed were acc from my friend 😭 im surprised i remembered that much

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[r0rysreid]

"Refusal"

[Spencer Reid x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Warnings: Fluff, public displays of affection, mild teasing

Summary: Two years after meeting Spencer in a bookstore, you find yourselves back where it all began—only this time, he’s far less interested in the books and far more interested in you.

Word Count: 726 words

A/N: Based on the poem 'Refusal' by Maya Angelou for the same reasons as my ressler fic!

Kissing him was just about what you needed in life. Kissing him in the bookstore where you first met him, that was something else.

It was two years ago when you stumbled into Spencer Reid in The Book Brook, two years ago when you fell in love with Spencer.

You remembered the way his fingers had hovered over the spines, his brow furrowed as if the shelf itself had personally offended him by not containing the exact edition he wanted—it was close enough.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his muttering was adorable.

"No, that’s the 1992 reprint, the footnotes are condensed—"

You cleared your throat. "You look like you’re losing a battle."

He startled, blinking at you like he hadn’t expected another human to acknowledge his existence. "I—uh. Just. The 1987 edition of The Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics has a misprint in the third chapter, and this store claims to carry rare academic texts, but—"

"You’re that kind of reader," you said, grinning. "The ‘I need the exact version or my soul will wither’ type."

He frowned. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It’s endearing." You held up your own book—Still I Rise. "I’m more of a ‘as long as the words are there, I’ll make it work’ person."

Spencer’s eyes flicked to the cover, then back to your face. "Maya Angelou."

"You know her?"

"‘You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes,’" he had recited softly, "‘you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I’ll rise.’"

Now, pressed between the poetry shelves and the warmth of his body, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

"Spence..." You pulled away with a quiet laugh as he tried to chase your mouth, his fingers tightening on your waist. "We should not be doing this here."

His eyes flickered between yours. "Why not?"

"Because," you whispered, "we’re in public."

Spencer huffed, but his lips twitched. "The chances of anyone even noticing—"

You pressed a finger to his mouth. "You’re an FBI agent, not a highschool kid trying to get lucky."

He nipped at your fingertip, grinning when you yelped. "I am lucky. And I like kissing you here."

"You’re impossible."

"And yet," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "you love me anyway."

You did. God, you did.

"You know," he mused, his breath warm against your neck, "Angelou once said that love recognizes no barriers."

You smirked. "Is that your way of justifying making out in public?"

Spencer laughed. "It’s my way of saying I missed you this week."

Your chest tightened. He’d been away on a case for five days, and though he’d called every night, hearing his voice through the phone wasn’t the same as having him here—solid and real and yours.

"I missed you too."

His thumb brushed your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought about you every day. Wondered what you were reading, if you were drinking that awful lavender tea you love, if you—" He hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. "If you missed me half as much as I missed you."

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling. "More."

Spencer exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. "Good."

A store employee—a lanky teenager with a name tag that read Ethan—stood a few feet away, pointedly examining a shelf. "Uh. Just letting you know that, uh…" He gestured vaguely toward the security camera in the corner. "Management kind of frowns on… activities in the aisles."

Spencer’s ears turned pink. "Right. Sorry."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "We’ll behave."

Ethan nodded, already backing away. "Cool. Just… maybe save it for the parking lot or something."

The second he was out of earshot, you dissolved into quiet giggles, pressing your face into Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer groaned, but his arms tightened around you. "I blame you."

"Me?"

"You’re the one who kissed me first."

You pulled back, mock-offended. "That is a lie."

His grin was unrepentant. "Selective memory, then."

You swatted his chest, but he caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come on," he murmured, tugging you toward the door. "Before we get banned from our own love story’s setting."

The evening air was crisp as you stepped outside, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the sidewalk. Spencer didn’t let go of your hand.

"Where to now, Dr. Reid?" you teased.

He hummed, pretending to consider. "Dinner. Then home. Then—" His voice dropped. "I’ll recite all of Angelou’s poetry to you. If you want."

You squeezed his hand, your heart impossibly full. "I want."

[r0rysreid]

tutor!spencer reid x gn!reader

spencer meeting your mom for the first time was more nerve wracking then it should be. it’s not like you were dating, he was simply a tutor, he had met plenty of parents before when he offered to tutor other people, but this? this made him queasy.

he had made sure he looked presentable enough, cleaning his glasses nearly 5 times until not a single smudge or fuzz was found on them.

using a lint roller on his collar, adjusting it countless times until his fingers ached from moving so much, letting out a sigh of relief when it was finally perfect.

he wore matching socks for once, even though he didn’t like it, he didn’t want to make any sort of bad impression. he made sure his pants were too long, his watch wasn’t crooked, each strand of hair was hair right.

sure, it was definitely overkill, but he couldn’t help it. not only did he wanna look his best meeting someone new, he wanted you to approve of his appearance, he wanted to impress you with how much work he put into it.

getting to your house was easy. sitting down at the dining table was easy. starting the work was easy. all of this was easy so far.

until he heard the doorknob turn, his posture insanely straightening, legs closed together, grip tightening on his pencil as he pushed his glasses up and tried not to freak out.

your mom had sat across from you two after she put her things away, a smile on her face as she started conversation with spencer. asking about school, his family, what he’s interested in.

under the table his leg was bouncing, free hand clutching the material of his jacket, smiling and nodding along as she spoke, trying to keep his voice steady as he responded how he deemed appropriate.

the conversation lasted much longer than he thought it would, letting out a sigh of relief when she was out of view, sinking back into the seat and glanced over at you.

“did i make a fool of myself? do you think she likes me? do you think i over did it?” he raffled off questions quickly, brows furrowing as his voice went up a pitch from worry.

you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh and shake your head. “trust me, she definitely likes you.” you smiled and looped one of your pinkies around his, before gesturing back towards your work. “now stop worrying and let’s finish my homework, yeah?”

[r0rysreid]

kissing spencer reid till his glasses fog up and he’s giggling into your mouth when you press his cheeks together to leave tiny pecks. he’s rushing into the briefing with bright red cheeks, stained lips, his tie a slight crooked, but his glasses? are the ones that give him away; they’re clearing up on the fog.

between hidden kisses he selfishly keeps you as his though he knows nothing escapes the bright minds of his team.

[r0rysreid]

tutor!spencer Reid was SOOO CUTE!!! can I please request a one shot (or blurb, whatever you feel like) of a first kiss or a confession between them? I'm a sucker for puppy love. THANK YOU YOU'RE THE BEST!

tutor!spencer reid x gn!reader

MY FIRST REQUEST!! i am MORE than happy to write this, im so so so glad you like tutor!spencer, that’s my baby. hopefully this meets your standards </3

spencer had been looking forward to this moment all week. you had invited him over to your place—not to study, but to simply hang out.

of course it wasn’t the first time he had been over, he had sat at your dining table so many times to the point he could practically draw each groove and scratch from memory.

but this was much different. it wasn’t studying, it was a genuine friendly hangout. from the moment you asked him he was over the moon, spending nearly an hour curating a good outfit to wear, adjusting his hair so it fell just right, and making sure to keep extra mints in his bag just incase.

fiddling with his bags straps he knocked on your door—three times like always, a pause between the first and second one. he rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, before catching a glimpse of your silhouette through the window, a smile creeping onto his lips.

a few moments later the door was opening, his face lighting up at the sight of you in-front of him, raising a hand to give you a small wave. “hey, sorry if i’m a little late.”

“it’s okay, you’re right on time. come in.” you stepped aside for him, allowing him to carefully step inside. as always he bent down to untie his shoes, placing them next to yours on the small shoe rack before following you into the living room.

he hesitated for a second before carefully walking over towards the couch, fingers flexing around his bag strap before he awkwardly sat down a few feet away from you on the couch.

“you alright? you seem way more tense than usual.” your voice caught him off guard, looking over at you and smiled a little, following with a nod and a thumbs up. “i’m good—just not used to sitting anywhere besides the table.” he gestured into the dining room, before carefully setting his bag down at his feet.

to say it was awkward was an understatement. spencer felt like he had no clue what he was doing. when you moved closer after putting on a movie, when you made yourselves sandwiches, when you had offered to head to your room and play with your console—he felt so embarrassed.

he stared down at his hands as you explained the game you were teaching him, his gaze occasionally flicking up to meet yours, smiling and nodding before taking the second controller you had handed him.

your fingers had brushed against his, it was such a cliche, but he didn’t care. he was loving every second of this. every second of being close to you.

“did you get all that? any parts i need to go over again?” you asked as you messed with the controls a bit, waiting for his confirmation. “yeah, i got it all. i always do.”

in reality he was barely paying attention to the game, mostly copying what you were doing, apologizing everytime he screwed up—even though you swore it was okay since its just a game.

eventually you guys abandoned the game, resorting to go through some of your music instead, shuffling through cd’s and introducing him to new music.

spencer was listening to every word, a faint blush on his face as he stared at you. he loved listening to you, and with you constantly telling him things for the past however long he had been over, he felt like he was in heaven.

you had started picking up that he was starting to lose focus on what you were actually saying and instead was focused on you. you couldn’t help but find it cute, smiling more as you turned to him and handed him your favorite album.

“you okay with this one?” you asked, moving a bit closer to him, waiting for his respond. of course he nodded, looking up at you, the second his gaze met yours he felt like his heart was gonna explode.

there was a comforting silence between you two, your hand finding his and giving a gentle squeeze, watching the way his ears started to turn bright red.

“you’re blushing.” you teased him, letting out a laugh as he started to crumble. he let out a small shaky chuckle, looking down for a second before turning back to you, mentally battling himself about what to do next.

a few seconds passed before he hesitantly moved closer, placing a small peck on your lips before quickly pulling back and looked away. “sorry—i just really wanted to do that.” he blurted out, pressing his lips into a thin line, his hand tightening around yours.

you felt your face heating up from his action, your own gaze falling to the floor, before a smile took over your expression. “i don’t mind. i liked it.” you responded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “i like you.”

your words caused the butterflies in spencer’s stomach to go insane, a smile matching yours painting his lips as he glanced at you as well. “i like you too. a lot.”

“you wanna listen to that album now or are we gonna sit here for the rest of the day?” you held up the cd again, earning a nod from him. you got up and put it in your player, before returning to sit next to spencer, much closer until your knees touched. your head found its place on his shoulder, hand in his again, and smiles stuck on both of your faces.